


ACOMAF - Rhysand's Perspective - Part 1

by OtterlyWasted



Series: ACOMAF - Rhysand's Perspective [1]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Prythian, The Night Court, The Spring Court (ACoTaR), Velaris
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-20 12:52:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18993037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OtterlyWasted/pseuds/OtterlyWasted
Summary: WARNING: If you have not read A Court of Mist and Fury by Sarah J. Maas I strongly suggest you go read it first - it's undoubtedly better written and what I have written will spoil the book for you.I am re-writing all of ACOMAF from Rhysand's perspective, using all of the original characters/scenes/dialogue, and adding in new bits and bobs to flesh his story out more.This Section:Ch. 1 - Rhysand's return home from Under the MountainCh. 2 - Rhysand shares Feyre's nightmareCh. 3 - Rhysand rescues Feyre from her weddingCh. 4 - Feyre throws her shoe at RhysandCh. 5 - Rhysand and Feyre have breakfast togetherCh. 6 - Feyre learns to read and writeCh. 7 - Rhysand tells Feyre about HybernCh. 8 - Rhysand takes Feyre back to the Spring CourtI hope you all enjoy!*Disclaimer - I do not take credit for the any of the characters or the world created by Sarah J. Maas.





	1. Return from Whence He Came

Mate.

My Mate.

My…

The cold darkness whipping around me settled and ebbed as I stumbled back against a column, hands reaching back to grip the cool moonstone. My breath caught in my throat as my eyes cast about wildly, finally settling on Mor, my cousin, standing in front of me, her eyes wide with tears.

“She’s…. she’s my Mate,” I stammered, my heart pounding so hard I thought my ribs might crack.

“Rhys…” Was all Mor got out before she lunged at me, her arms wrapping tight around my neck, pulling me into her embrace as her body racked in sobs.

I managed to raise my hands from the column behind me and wrap them tightly around her, swallowing hard as I pressed my face against her shoulder, trembling with the emotion of being home, of seeing my cousin, of… oh god. Oh _god_.

“She’s my Mate…” I whispered again into her shoulder as I clutched Mor tighter, desperately, feeling my mind spiraling out of control with the reality of the situation. My Mate and the female I loved beyond all reason and sanity, loved another male. Had sacrificed body and mind for that male. And beyond being my Mate’s love, he was my enemy, his betrayal of my one-time friendship had cut deeper than any other in my lifetime. I would have laughed at the irony were it not for the sob caught in my throat.

Mor’s arms tightened around me, and finally having choked back her sobs she asks, “Who is Rhys? Who is your Mate?”

I swallowed and pulled back enough to lean my head against the column behind me, as I cast my gaze at the night sky that for fifty years I had only dreamed of ever seeing again. And the sight of it, brilliant, radiant, unmatched anywhere else in the world, did nothing to ease the pain inside of me.

“Feyre…. Her name is Feyre.”

\- - - ~*~ - - -

Velaris was exactly as I had remembered, which was both a surprise and a comfort. The streets lively and colorful, the inhabitants cheerful, even celebratory as news of the victory Under the Mountain began to spread. Standing at the front window of my townhouse I watched the swirl of commotion as my people spread the news, pausing in the front of my home to bow and wave and yell words of greeting and welcome. I smiled at them, though my heart was broken, I could still feel happiness at seeing them again, at knowing they had been safe all these years, that my choices had been rewarded with this, my city, my people, alive and well.

Behind me, scattered on the couches and chairs in the sitting room were my friends, my family. Their own welcome had been joyful, even Azriel had smiled as he clapped me on the back. Amren had simply bowed her head, a gesture of respect, but I had seen the way her body relaxed subtly, as though she had been holding her breath for fifty years and had only now just been able to let it out. Cassian had been boisterous, grabbing me hard, and then shaking me with pent up grief and frustration, only to hug me again so tight I thought my bones might crack. Through it all Mor had cried yet again, though a smile more jubilant and beautiful than the sun graced her lovely face.

Home. I was home.

And I had never been more broken or empty.

But feeling them there, my family behind me, and my people out front of my house, I knew I could never, _never_ , let them see any of it. Masks had always been a part of my arsenal, but fifty years Under the Mountain had honed them until it was second nature to wear them… in fact I wondered vaguely if it would even be possible for me to not wear one anymore.

So, I settled an old one in place, not the one I had typically worn Under the Mountain, built of malice and indifference, but rather one constructed of calm confidence. I forced my spine to stand straight, and my shoulders to pull back, forced my lungs to take in a deep breath and not catch on the weakness buried within. I forced my mouth to ease into the vaguest hint of a smile, and then I turned to face my family again, sliding one hand in my pocket, and gesturing briefly with the other.

“Well friends, as much as I might want to revel in this unexpected turn of events, the reality is that we have problems that must be handled quickly and carefully. The two most pressing issues are Hewn city and the Illyarians.” My gaze shifted over each of them, lingering on Mor and Cassian before finally settling on Azriel.

My old friend stood against one wall, his arms crossed in front of him, his face nearly masked in shadows that swirled and caressed around him. Meeting my gaze solidly, the shadows eased back, revealing an expression born of resolve as he nodded understanding before I had even spoken the words.

“We need information, and we need it fast. We’re going to have to take control back and do it so solidly that it won’t be questioned again. Because if my suspicions are correct, then we could be facing a Cauldrons load of trouble very soon.”

Silence met my statement for a few heartbeats before it was Amren who broke it. She looked at me with her swirling silver eyes, the ancient power of them boring into me, through me, “Rhysand, do not toy with us. What are your suspicions?”

I managed a wane smile at her tone, she was never one to beat around the bush. Taking a breath, I said, “Amarantha was just a test.” I paused and glanced around at each of them again before I continued, “Hybern is coming.”


	2. I Dream, We Dream, We Both Scream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: If you have not read A Court of Mist and Fury by Sarah J. Maas I strongly suggest you go read it first - it's undoubtedly better written and what I have written will spoil the book for you.
> 
> I am re-writing all of ACOMAF from Rhysand's perspective, using all of the original characters/scenes/dialogue, and adding in new bits and bobs to flesh his story out more.
> 
> This Section:  
> Ch. 1 - Rhysand's return home from Under the Mountain  
> Ch. 2 - Rhysand shares Feyre's nightmare  
> Ch. 3 - Rhysand rescues Feyre from her wedding  
> Ch. 4 - Feyre throws her shoe at Rhysand  
> Ch. 5 - Rhysand and Feyre have breakfast together  
> Ch. 6 - Feyre learns to read and write  
> Ch. 7 - Rhysand tells Feyre about Hybern  
> Ch. 8 - Rhysand takes Feyre back to the Spring Court
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> *Disclaimer - I do not take credit for the any of the characters or the world created by Sarah J. Maas.

The next three months were nothing short of torture in their own way – long hours spent in intrigue and combat as we wrestled control back from the splinter groups who had joined forces with Amarantha, and thus Hybern. Far too often forgiveness was not an option, and I was forced to strong arm my subjects into obedience, or death, and each time it took a toll on my already battered soul. I had never wanted to be the High Lord who ruled through cruelty and fear, not as my father had, and his father before him. I had once been a dreamer, longed for peace, for freedom. And even as I stood judgement down on those who had betrayed me, who had earned their sentences of death, even as I knew each sentence was called for, I found no enjoyment in it, nor sense of satisfaction.

I felt empty.

And at the end of each day, as I climbed the stairs of my townhouse, alone, always alone, and knew as I entered my bedroom another form of torment awaited me in sleep. I’m not sure what was worse, the first night it happened, or the fact that it has happened every night since. I did know that it always started out the same way – in darkness and horror.

Under the Mountain.

Under Amarantha. Or worse, under her power which held me down, forced me to watch as those I loved were tormented and tortured.

And then there was Feyre.

_Blood. As red as her hair spilling over me as she rode me hard and fast while her nails dug into me, ripping into me…_

**_Blood, hot, fresh, spilled over my hands, staining my skin, my clothes._ **

**_Drip. Drip._ **

_Her laughter, cruel and wicked… “Oh don’t look so miserable… aren’t you having fun?”_

**_A dagger falling to the floor as the body crumpled in front of me, a sob echoing somewhere behind me._ **

_I felt my body tremble, a sob not my own, choking its way up my throat._

**_MURDERER_ **

_The word echoed through my thoughts, slamming painfully around inside my head._

_I saw her then, sitting on the throne with her blood red hair and her smirk of victory, and I knew. I knew where I was. I knew who I was. This… this was not my nightmare._

**_Another dagger, another victim, kneeling in front of me. Oh gods… Bronze eyes, she had bronze eyes, even as the tears marred her face her bronze eyes were beautiful and sad, so, so sad, and her voice, like music, lyrical and sweet, raised in prayer…_ **

**_BUTCHERER_ **

**_Forgiveness. I could see it in her eyes, she forgave me even as I held the dagger in my shaking hand. Her forgiveness cut at me sharper than any blade ever could. I did not deserve forgiveness. I did not deserve to live._ **

_Oh Feyre… My heart it bled for her._

**_LIAR_ **

**_I couldn’t… I couldn’t do it… I… had to… I had to. For Tamlin… for everyone._ **

**_I felt the shape of the dagger in my hand, so heavy, gods it was so heavy… I could barely lift my hand, but I did, and I did not look away._ **

_I would not look away, I would watch this with her, for her. Always. I would not let her be alone, even if she never knew I was here._

**_I thrust the dagger into her chest, watched as her bronze eyes darkened with pain and shock and forgiveness, even as she died, she forgave me. I watched as her blood coated my hands, mingling with the blood of the first fae, staining my skin and my soul. I watched as she fell to the floor, and the knife tumbled out of my hand._ **

**_DECEIVER_ **

_I knew what was next, who was next. Tamlin._

**_She stood in front of the third fae, the third dagger in her hand. The body which had been broad, masculine, shifted as the hood was removed, becoming slender, feminine. Brown-gold hair that fell in gentle waves and blue-grey eyes filled with such sadness and blood guilt, the face no longer human, the skin lustrous with the glory of fae-life, her body elongated and elegant._ **

_No… no, Feyre, no…_

**_MURDERER MURDERER MURDERER_ **

**_The words became a death chant, repeated over and over in her head, a keening wail of sorrow that clawed its way up her throat, nearly becoming a scream of anguish. I felt her grip tighten on the dagger, nails digging into the poisonous wood. Felt as the hopelessness and self-loathing swallowed her soul leaving in its wake nothing, no light, no hope, no future._ **

**_MURDERER BUTCHER LIAR MURDERER_ **

_I watched as she raised the dagger, her beautiful hands, those painters’ hands that had created such lovely images angling the dagger at her own heart._

_Feyre…. Feyre, don’t… no, please…_

**_LIAR DECEIVER MURDERER_ **

**_She felt it calling, her death, her release, it would be such a relief to end it, to escape it all, escape the reality of what she had done, to pay for the lives she had taken._ **

_My mind, my body, was locked up in horror as I watched her, felt her, and even as I knew it was a violation I tried to reach for her, tried to stop her… and I was too late, always too late, just like when her neck was snapped, and I watched her plunge that dagger into her own heart even as a screamed for her to stop…_

_FEYRE!_

I woke screaming her name, sitting straight up in my bed, soaked in sweat, gasping for air as tears streamed down my face. A low sob escaped me as I reached up with both hands, pressing them against my damp face and cried – not just for the horror of watching her kill herself, of watching her die again, but for the realization that this was how she viewed herself, with such disgust and loathing. My beautiful Feyre…

I felt her still, though neither of us were dreaming. I felt her waking to her own sob of anguish, felt her stomach tighten and heave and felt her race to the bathroom as she did every night.

Pulling myself out of bed, my own stomach tight, knotted, not with sickness but with agony and sorrow, and made my way to my own bathroom. I stood in the doorway and saw, not the pale marble before me, but the warmer granite tones used in the Spring Court, and the only female I would ever love kneeling before the toilet, throwing up her guts. Pacing forward to the edge of my tub I sank down onto the floor, tucking my knees up against my chest and bracing my arms over them. Resting my head against the edge of the tub, I closed my as I listened to her, felt her pain.

Feyre, my Feyre, my… my nothing. She was not mine. She never would be. But I would sit here with her, every night, I would not let her be alone. I had decided that when Amarantha had tortured her, I decided I would not let her die alone. And in this, I would not let her suffer alone.

I felt her ease back from the toilet and watched her as she looked up at the night sky. I did the same, opening my eyes to stare out of my window to gaze at the stars, sharing with her the solace that only the stars and the night can bring.

_Real. This is real._

I felt her mouth the words to herself. They felt like a prayer, or maybe a plea.

 _Yes_ , I thought, _this is real_.

I reached out, I knew I shouldn’t, I knew she would hate me for it if she ever, _ever_ , knew. Yet I reached out all the same, with the barest hint of darkness and caressed her mind, so softly, so lightly that she didn’t even notice. I wasn’t sure if I felt relieved or disappointed that she never noticed I was here with her, every night, at her side.

Or maybe she did notice.

I felt her lift her arm and look at the eye tattoo on her hand and grimace.

I almost smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This endeavor is my first ever fanfiction attempt, and it has been a blast to play with so far.
> 
> I would love to see your comments about what I'm writing!
> 
> So please hit me up with what you think! - Otter


	3. I'm Sorry, Was This Supposed To Be A Wedding?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: If you have not read A Court of Mist and Fury by Sarah J. Maas I strongly suggest you go read it first - it's undoubtedly better written and what I have written will spoil the book for you.
> 
> I am re-writing all of ACOMAF from Rhysand's perspective, using all of the original characters/scenes/dialogue, and adding in new bits and bobs to flesh his story out more.
> 
> This Section:  
> Ch. 1 - Rhysand's return home from Under the Mountain  
> Ch. 2 - Rhysand shares Feyre's nightmare  
> Ch. 3 - Rhysand rescues Feyre from her wedding  
> Ch. 4 - Feyre throws her shoe at Rhysand  
> Ch. 5 - Rhysand and Feyre have breakfast together  
> Ch. 6 - Feyre learns to read and write  
> Ch. 7 - Rhysand tells Feyre about Hybern  
> Ch. 8 - Rhysand takes Feyre back to the Spring Court
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> *Disclaimer - I do not take credit for the any of the characters or the world created by Sarah J. Maas.

“Rhysand.”

Mor only called me by my full name when she was annoyed with me. Her hands on her hips cinched the deal.

I was leaning against the mantle of the fireplace in my town house, staring down into the flickering flames, and the brief glance I gave her confirmed it. Yes, definitely annoyed.

Any other day I might have been amused. Any other day I might have toyed with her. Any other day.

But not this day.

Empty. I was so, so empty.

I looked back down into the fire and did not respond. I hoped she would take my silence as command to drop it.

No such luck.

“Rhysand, this is stupid. Go. Get. Her.”

I gritted my teeth. It had been a mistake to tell her about Feyre. Now she felt she had the right to bring her up whenever we were alone. With any luck however, Cassian would be here soon, and we would be working our way through a few bottles of my best whiskey.

Mor was not done with me however, and I felt her walk up beside me and place her hand on my shoulder. I wanted to shrug her off, but I didn’t have the energy to face the hurt she would have if I did.

“Rhys… Rhys she is your _M_ _ate_. It’s not too late, go get her, tell her the truth, let her decide when she has all the facts. Don’t just do it for your sake, she deserves the truth.”

Anger boiled up in me and I finally did shrug her hand aside, standing up straight to glare at her.

“The truth? The TRUTH! Tell her the TRUTH that the person who threatened her friend and her lover, who tormented her Under the Mountain, that forced her into a bargain, then paraded her in front of all the fae, that got her drunk and toyed with her is now her MATE? That the High Lord of Nightmares is the one destined for her? Yes, I’m sure that will go over swimmingly Mor. I’m sure she will just run straight to me over the male she sacrificed her life for.” My hands clenched into fists and I struggled to control my breathing which came in great heaving breaths. “She sacrificed everything she was for him Mor, she gave her life for him, for all of us. She has earned her happy ending. And it is NOT with me. So, drop it!”

Mor did not flinch, she did not even look particularly hurt. In fact, she looked angry. Her cheeks were flushed red and her rich brown eyes flashed at me, her mouth opened to argue when I suddenly gasped.

I reached out to grasp the mantle to steady myself as I was suddenly inundated with frantic emotions..

_Help me help me help me_

Red… red petals. Blood. Petals. And sunlight. And panic, gut wrenching panic…

I struggled to breathe as the waves of panic and guilt and shame rolled through me, over me, nearly buckling my knees. Faintly I could hear Mor calling my name, reaching for me, as though to steady me.

“Feyre…” I mouthed, no sound escaping my lips, my throat too choked up with the panic she sent down the bond in relentless waves. I could see her surrounded by all the fae, their gazes boring into her just as they had during the trials, judging her as she hesitated.

 _Help me save me… get me out!_  

Tamlin. He stood there, hand out stretched. He took a step forward and the panic increased, overwhelming.

I watched through her eyes as she took a step back from him.

_No._

The thought exploded in her mind.

I winnowed before I knew what I was doing. The darkness swirling up around me and casting me through the world to the sunlit hills of the Spring Court. I had just enough time and brain power left to replace my simple tunic and pants with my more elegant black attire, suitable for the High Lord of the Night court, and slip into the personae I had held under the mountain.

My flight to be at her side was so desperate that I arrived in a whirlwind of darkness and a clash of thunder, standing just behind Feyre.

And there she was. All of those hours I had spent dreaming of her, holding the image of her in my mind, and she was finally there, only a few feet away from me.

She was dressed in what had to be the most ridiculous wedding dress I had ever seen, layers and layers of tulle that fluffed around her like a cloud… it was hideous. And it was a lie - it made a lie of who she was, _what_ she was. To make matters worse she was so thin the dress seemed to hang off her body as though she was only a whisper of wind.

Time stopped as I watched her turn to stare at me, her eyes wide with horror, and the sight of her fear nearly killed me, but not nearly so much as the dark circles under eyes or how pale she was, nearly as pale as we had all looked after years Under the Mountain.

And even with all of that, she still took my breath away.

Putting on the mask the world expected of me, I smirked at her as I reached up to straighten my lapels and said with a purr, “Hello, Feyre darling.”

Brief movement behind her finally caught my attention, and I took in the sight of the rest of the wedding. All of the guests and the wedding party were staring at me with shock and fear, and I played into it by allowing a tiny fraction of my power to leak out, tendrils of darkness dancing around me. That was all it took to cause the wedding to explode, guests screaming and fleeing in terror, darting over chairs or winnowing away – it was almost amusing. I shifted my gaze towards where Tamlin, Lucien and their guards were beginning to draw their swords. Smirking, I raised one hand as I reached out to their minds, wrapping them in darkness and not one of them could hope to resist my control, as I forced them to re-sheath their weapons.

Looking just past them my eyes focused on Ianthe. The viper. I narrowed my gaze at her and had some brief satisfaction at the terror written on her face, and watched as she backed away, step by step, then turned and fled.

I nearly chuckled as I returned my gaze to Tamlin, “What a pretty little wedding.”

Lowering my hand, I slid both into my pockets casually then looked back to Feyre, my gaze feasting on the sight of her until I finally noticed the gloves. Of course, they would hide the tattoo, hide the truth, bastards. That’s what Tamlin liked to do, it was obvious by just looking at Feyre, at how diminished she was body and soul – he hid the truth of her suffering to himself. I clicked my tongue in disapproval and shook my head.

“Get the hell out,” Tamlin demanded angrily. I returned my attention to him as he growled and stalked towards Feyre and myself, his claws easing out. He had always been more beast than fae – driven by his primal nature.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” I said tauntingly, “Not when I need to call in my bargain with Feyre darling.” Tamlin tensed and I couldn'y help but chuckle, “You try to break the bargain, and you know what will happen.” We both glanced to Feyre who still looked at me with fear, her body trembling slightly and my heart broke. I couldn’t tell her the truth, I couldn’t drop the mask, not here, not now… but I could tell her _a_ truth. “I gave you three months of freedom. You could at least look happy to see me.”

There was a flash of something in her eyes at that, anger perhaps. Whatever it was it bewitched me – anything other than fear was like a balm to my soul. I turned my attention back to Tamlin and said calmly, “I’ll be taking her now.”

He snarled at me, low and fierce, “Don’t you dare.”

I smirked again and glanced around, Ianthe was gone as were most of the guests, “Was I interrupting? I thought it was over.” I looked at Feyre and grinned, remembering how she had almost said no, how the word had pulled me across the world to stand behind her as though she had summoned me. “At least, Feyre seemed to think so.”

He snarled again, “Let us finish the ceremony-“

My gaze flickered behind Tamlin to where the empty alter stood as I said, “Your High Priestess seems to think it’s over, too.”

Tamlin stiffened and look back to the alter as well, finding it abandoned by the viper Ianthe. Returning his gaze to me, his claws slide back in slowly, “Rhysand-“

I took one step towards Feyre and reached up to brush my fingers across her elbow, a slow shudder running down my spine at the feeling of touching her, even as I felt her jolt in fear at being touched by me.

My Feyre…

“I’m in no mood to bargain,” I said with wry amusement, “even though I could work it to my advantage, I’m sure.” Looking down at her, wishing she could see past the mask, past the cruel indifference to what lay beneath, I said softly to her, “Let’s go.”

She didn’t look at me, instead staring at Tamlin. Her love. “Tamlin,” she whispered, in quiet plea.

My heart shattered.

Tamlin took one, just _one_! Step towards me, “Name your price.”

I could barely take my eyes off her as I slid my arm up, linking elbows with her, each touch of her body against mine felt electric. “Don’t bother,” I crooned to Tamlin, taunting him. The coward, he wouldn’t even fight for her, he didn’t fight for her Under the Mountain, and he didn’t fight for her now. Why couldn’t she see that?

“Tamlin, please,” she whispered again, staring at him with desperation. I could feel the terror washing off of her, it had long since replaced the panic and it flooded through her and down the bond. I could catch tremors of her thoughts, of her fear, of her certainty that I was about to drag her to a hell not unlike that of the mountain we had all been trapped under. I wanted to comfort her, to reassure her, to promise I would never, _never_ , hurt her… but it would have to wait.

“Such dramatics,” I murmured as I slipped my other arm around her waist, nestling her in close against me… she was so thin, too thin, but it felt so good to have her close against me. It felt right. Like a part of my soul had returned.

Tamlin’s snarl brought my attention back to him, he still hadn’t moved but he said harshly, “If you hurt her-“

I very nearly rolled my eyes, but I maintained my mask and drawled carelessly, “I know, I know. I’ll return her in a week.”

Returning my gaze to Feyre, I leaned in, nearly brushing my lips across her ear as I whispered softly, “Hold on.” Then I called my darkness to me, wrapping it lovingly around her and I, and winnowed us away from the Spring Court, my eyes never leaving the sight of her as I took us to the Night Court, to my home on the mountain above.

Landing in the courtyard I finally let the darkness slide away, and we were surrounded by the scent of sweet jasmine, columns of moonstone framing the open expanse of snow-covered mountains, crowned by the brilliant night sky. I couldn’t help but smile, yet she did not once look at me, and I murmured quietly, “Welcome to the Night Court.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This endeavor is my first ever fanfiction attempt, and it has been a blast to play with so far.
> 
> I would love to see your comments about what I'm writing!
> 
> So please hit me up with what you think! - Otter


	4. Hope At Her First Shoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: If you have not read A Court of Mist and Fury by Sarah J. Maas I strongly suggest you go read it first - it's undoubtedly better written and what I have written will spoil the book for you.
> 
> I am re-writing all of ACOMAF from Rhysand's perspective, using all of the original characters/scenes/dialogue, and adding in new bits and bobs to flesh his story out more.
> 
> This Section:  
> Ch. 1 - Rhysand's return home from Under the Mountain  
> Ch. 2 - Rhysand shares Feyre's nightmare  
> Ch. 3 - Rhysand rescues Feyre from her wedding  
> Ch. 4 - Feyre throws her shoe at Rhysand  
> Ch. 5 - Rhysand and Feyre have breakfast together  
> Ch. 6 - Feyre learns to read and write  
> Ch. 7 - Rhysand tells Feyre about Hybern  
> Ch. 8 - Rhysand takes Feyre back to the Spring Court
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> *Disclaimer - I do not take credit for the any of the characters or the world created by Sarah J. Maas.

I wanted to hold onto her forever, but I let go of her and took a step back and just watched her as my heart hammered in my chest. She was here. She was in my lands, with me, and she was safe. I watched as she took everything in, watched her take deep breaths of the sweetly scented night air, and watched her eyes devour the mountains and the endless night sky. For a brief moment I felt no fear from her, but rather a feeling peace – whatever she had expected, and I knew she had expected the worst, this was not it, and the openness of my home seemed to ease something inside of her.

But then the knot of fear returned as she looked inwards towards my home, her eyes tracing the hallways and alcoves, as though she was looking for proof of something that stalked her nightmares.

I was filled with sadness and frustration and I wanted to… I don’t know what I wanted to do. Throw up my arms in disgust maybe? But I reminded myself that of course she thought the worse of me, why not? I had showed her nothing but the worst of what I could do. Except… except at the end. When I had fought for her. Did she not remember? Did she not see that I had given everything I had left at the end to try and save her? Was that not enough to override the awful actions of my past with her?

Letting out a quiet sigh, I said soothingly, “This is my private residence.”

She turned to look at me with her piercing gray-blue eyes, scanning me as though looking for something buried within me before they turned hot with anger and she scowled at me. “How _dare_ you-“

Ah that anger, there was something about it that delighted me; anger I could work with, it was better than terror any day. I could play with her anger, so I snorted, “I certainly missed _that_ look on your face.” Stalking towards her I smirked, “You’re welcome, you know.”

Her voice went up an octave with insulted accusation, “For _what_?”

I stopped barely a foot away and slid my hands into my pockets, and smiled without humor, “For saving you when you asked.”

I watched her stiffen with denial, “I didn’t ask for anything.”

Stubborn, she was so damn stubborn. She was so damn beautiful. My gaze dipped down to her left arm, covered with that dumb glove. With a quiet snarl I reached out, gripping her left arm gently but firmly, and tore the glove off her arm then reached for her right arm and repeated my movements, leaving her skin bare save for the tattoo on her left arm, her skin pale and oh so lovely.

She flinched and tried to step back while I continued to hold onto her and very nearly growled at her as I said, “I heard you begging someone, _anyone_ , to rescue you, to get you out. I heard you say _no_.”

Her body was still stiff with denial as she said harshly, “I didn’t say anything.”

Turning her bare arm over, I examined the eye tattooed on her palm before I tapped on it and said simply, “I heard it loud and clear.”

She forcefully yanked her arm out of my grip as she glared at me with hot anger, “Take me back. _Now._ I didn’t want to be stolen away.”

Shrugging with feigned indifference, “What better time to take you here?” Then smirked, amused at the following thought, “Maybe Tamlin didn’t notice you were about to reject him in front of his entire court – maybe you can now simply blame it on me.”

“You’re a bastard,” she snarled at me, her hands tightening into fists, “You made it clear enough that I had… reservations.”

I chuckled, though only once and slid my hands back into my pockets, “Such gratitude, as always.”

I watched her struggle to take a breath, to calm the anger radiating from her body. Finally, she said in almost a whisper, “What do you want from me?”

Everything, I thought to myself. Your world. Your dreams. Your love.

Staring at her I desperately wanted to drop to my knees and offer her everything _I_ had. The frustration of not being able to explain to her, of knowing how much she hated me and feared me and did not want to be here in my court cut me to the core. It all boiled up inside of me and I spit my words out at her more harshly than I had intended, “ _Want?_ I want you to say thank you, first of all. Then I want you to take off that hideous dress. You look…” I ran my eyes over her again, taking in the sight of the stupid dress and nearly growled, “You look exactly like the doe-eyed damsel he and that simpering priestess want you to be.”

Didn’t she see realize she was not the damsel needing to be rescued? Didn’t she realize she was the huntress not the prey? That she was a queen, a goddess who faced down her worst fears and _won_? She was no prize, no reward to be given, she was not the target, she was the arrow.

“You don’t know anything about me,” she said with something akin to disgust, “Or us.”

Oh Feyre...

Three months, it had been three months since we escaped under the mountain, and it had been three months of nightmares and three months of glimpses into her mind during the day, of moments that had nearly buried her in grief and shame and guilt. I knew more about her than I dared to admit.

I smiled without even a trace of humor, “Does Tamlin?”

I stared into her beautiful eyes that held no love or kindness for me in them, and gave her another shred of truth, offered a tiny shard of my heart, but masked it with cold indifference, afraid to reveal too much of my feelings for her. “Does he ever ask you why you hurl your guts up every night, or why you can’t go into certain rooms or see certain colors?”

I watched her freeze, watched the panic race across her face as she realized how much of her truth I knew.

“Get the hell out of my head.”

If only I could, I thought, if only I could get her out of my head, if I could let her go, let her be happy with Tamlin, let her live her own life and go on with mine without thinking of her every second of every day – perhaps eternally lonely but not equally as haunted.

“Likewise,” I whispered then turned and began to stalk away. “You think I enjoy being awoken every night by visions of you puking? You send everything right down that bond, and I don’t appreciate having a front-row seat when I’m trying to sleep.”

Behind me I heard her say sharply, “Prick.”

I let out a low chuckle, pausing a few feet away to glance over my shoulder at her, “As for what else I want from you…” I gestured to the house beyond the courtyard she still stood in. “I’ll tell you tomorrow at breakfast. For now, clean yourself up. Rest.” I took in the sight of her again, in that dress that made a mockery of the brilliance and power of her soul, and hot rage boiled up in me again before I pushed it back down and said simply, “Take the stairs on the right, one level down. Your room is the first door.”

She tensed again and swallowed hard, “Not a dungeon cell?”

My heart ached again; I could feel that deep abiding fear blossoming in her. Trapped. She would be trapped. In darkness, alone, so very, very alone. I wanted to go to her, to hold her, to promise her no, never again. But she would not accept my embrace or my affection, she would not trust my promises. Instead I simply arched a brow at her and said quietly, “You are not a prisoner, Feyre. You made a bargain and I am calling it in.” I smiled slightly, perhaps the first and most genuine smile I had ever given her, “You will be my guest here, with the privileges of a member of my household. None of my subjects are going to touch you, hurt you, or so much as think ill of you here.”

She glanced around again quickly before asking, “And where might those subjects be?”

I turned to face her fully, tilting my head slightly, “Some dwell here – in the mountain beneath us.” My gaze flickered down briefly before I continued, “They’re forbidden to set foot in this residence. They know they’d be signing their death warrant.” My voice hardened at that pronouncement, my resolve on the matter unwavering. "Amarantha wasn't very creative," I continued, yet I watched as her eyes began to darken with panic as the shadows of her fear began to creep in. I softened my voice again, trying to explain, to ease that fear building inside of her, “My court beneath this mountain has long been feared, and she chose to replicate it by violating the space of Prythian’s sacred mountain. So, yes: there’s a court beneath this mountain – the court your Tamlin now expects me to be subjecting you to. I preside over it every now and then, but it mostly rules itself.”

“When-“ she swallowed, trying to keep control of her panic, her hands fisted in her skirts, almost shaking, “When are you taking me there?”

Shaking my head I rolled my shoulders, trying to ease the tension knotting them up, and met her gaze with calm promise, “I’m not.” _Trust me_. I wanted to tell her, _trust in me, I would never hurt you, never subject you._ Instead I gestured again briefly, “This is my home, and the court beneath is my… occupation, as you mortals call it. I do not like for the two to overlap very often.” I chose my words to distract her, to challenge her, draw her away from her panic.

She caught the challenge and scoffed at me, “ ‘You mortals?’ “

I merely smirked playfully, “Should I consider you something different?”

She refused to play that game with me, for now, although her attention had shifted slightly, panic being replaced first by irritation then by a hint of curiosity. “And the other denizens of your court?”

Sliding my hands back into my pockets I shrugged, “Scattered throughout, dwelling as they wish. Just as _you_ are now free to roam where you wish.”

Her eyes flashed with defiance. It was delightful. “I wish to roam home.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, that defiant spark inside of her, however dim it was now, was still the most beautiful thing I had ever witnessed. If only she would let it out to play more often. Fearing to watch it disappear again, I instead chose to retreat, taking the image of it with me to my bed. I turned and began sauntering down the hall, calling over my shoulder with playful teasing, “I’m willing to accept your thanks at any time, you know.”

Suddenly pain exploded across the back of my skull and I stumbled in shock, whirling to stare back at her with wide eyes as my hand reached up to grope the back of my head. I glanced down and saw the shoe laying at my feet, and then back at her, her eyes narrowed, and cheeks flushed with such brilliant, beautiful anger. My heart contracted… and I wanted _more_. I wanted to see more of her curiosity, her power, her brilliance. I pulled my teeth back and growled my challenge at her, “ _I dare you.”_

She raised her other shoe and _flung_ it as hard as she could at my head, the speed of it faster than it should be, hurtling at me with all the power of her being. I reached up and snatched it, the impact of it hitting my hand _hurt_ , and the pain was almost a relief. She was so alive, so powerful, and she had no idea. I let out a low hiss, lowering the shoe and meeting her gaze, burning brightly with righteous anger, and I nearly smiled. I reached out with my power, wrapping my darkness around the shoe in my hand, and then _shifted_ causing the shoe to suddenly dissolve in my hand into glittering black dust that sprinkled through my fingers to the moonstone floor below. I looked her over her again, drinking in the sight of her, savoring every inch of her. She was glorious.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of my lips as I murmured softly, “Interesting.” Then turned and continued on, leaving her standing there in the court yard. After a minute of feeling her roiling anger and frustration building inside of her, I heard instead the swish of her gown as she turned and headed down the hallway I had directed her to.

\- - - ~*~ - - -

Reaching the door of my room, I opened it to hear Mor’s voice call out with amusement, “So, _that_ went well.”

I let out a snarl in response as I stepped inside my room and shut the door behind me. Leaning back against it I closed my eyes and let out a low, deep sigh. When I finally opened my eyes again a few minutes later I spotted Mor sitting next to a small table near the balcony, legs crossed and leaning back comfortably, eyeing me with a mixture of amusement and concern.

Pushing off the door I stalked past her, walking out to my balcony and raising my hands to rest them on the railing, leaning forward on them and lowering my head. Tired. I was so tired. And empty. I could hear Mor behind me, walking over to stand beside me, leaning her back against the railing, looking down at me.

“She hates me,” I whispered, and even to me, my voice sounded defeated.

Mor was quiet for a moment, then reached out, resting a hand on top of mine before she said simply, “No she doesn’t.”

I shook my head, unwilling, incapable of believing her. Of course, she hated me. Why shouldn’t she?

“Rhys, she is so beat up inside right now, her soul is bruised and tired… but she does not hate you.” She was quiet a moment later before she said with a confidence born from deep personal understanding and shared pain, “She hates herself; you have nothing to do with it.”

My heart contracted and my breath caught in my throat, anger and despair so overwhelming I could barely think roiled in my gut. _Feyre… my Feyre, why do you have to suffer so?_ I gritted my teeth against the sobs that bubbled up just below the surface and curled my fingers, talons of shadows swirling at my fingertips. Mor wrapped an arm around my waist and hugged me firmly, supporting me, offering me her strength and love.

“Oh Mor… what…” My words choked in my throat again for a moment and I swallowed past the lump of grief in my throat, “What… how do I help her?”

“You help her find purpose, you help her find a reason to live, to fight." I heard her say softly. "You can’t make her do it, it has to be her choice, but… you can tempt her.”

A reason to live. To fight. I swallowed hard and lifted my head to gaze out over the mountains and took a deep breath. Standing up straight I took another deep breath, then nodded. A reason to live.

“Alright. I can do that.” I turned slightly to look at my cousin, and smiled vaguely, “Will you… will you stay here, with us, for the week? Even if she doesn’t hate me, she does fear me, and she doesn’t trust me. But maybe… maybe, if she met you, she might reach out to you. I know you have work to do, but it can wait a week, unless there is an emergency.”

Mor smiled at me warmly and nodded, “Of course Rhys, I would love to meet her.” She reached out, squeezing my arm before she said softly, “And Rhys, she doesn’t fear you. And I think she trusts you more than either of you are willing to admit.” 

I stared at her for a moment, then shook my head slightly, not arguing but not believing her in the slightest. She just shrugged and smiled, “Try and get some sleep Rhys, you’re going to need it.” Then she turned and left my room, heading towards her own quarters. I watched her go, the door shutting behind her, then turned my attention to the table, some paperwork sitting on it. An idea sprung into my head, followed by a slow smile as I walked over to the table, pulling out a clean sheet of paper and picking up a pen.

_You look…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This endeavor is my first ever fanfiction attempt, and it has been a blast to play with so far.
> 
> I would love to see your comments about what I'm writing!
> 
> So please hit me up with what you think! - Otter


	5. The Breakfast of Two Broken Souls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: If you have not read A Court of Mist and Fury by Sarah J. Maas I strongly suggest you go read it first - it's undoubtedly better written and what I have written will spoil the book for you.
> 
> I am re-writing all of ACOMAF from Rhysand's perspective, using all of the original characters/scenes/dialogue, and adding in new bits and bobs to flesh his story out more.
> 
> This Section:  
> Ch. 1 - Rhysand's return home from Under the Mountain  
> Ch. 2 - Rhysand shares Feyre's nightmare  
> Ch. 3 - Rhysand rescues Feyre from her wedding  
> Ch. 4 - Feyre throws her shoe at Rhysand  
> Ch. 5 - Rhysand and Feyre have breakfast together  
> Ch. 6 - Feyre learns to read and write  
> Ch. 7 - Rhysand tells Feyre about Hybern  
> Ch. 8 - Rhysand takes Feyre back to the Spring Court
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> *Disclaimer - I do not take credit for the any of the characters or the world created by Sarah J. Maas.

I slept little during the night, though perhaps better than I had in months. Something about having Feyre that much closer, even hallways apart from me, soothed my soul, and after hours of lying in bed, staring out at the stars. I finally drifted off to sleep, waking only a few short hours later to the glorious rays of the sun peaking over the tops of the mountains. I took in a slow, deep breath, feeling my lungs expand to hold it all in… and then exhaled as the sudden excitement of seeing her again crept up inside of me.

Feyre… my Feyre. She was here, she was in my court, she was… she was not mine. She would never be mine. But she was here, and that thought alone beat back some of the sadness and twisted my gut with a breathless need to see her again.

I pushed myself up out of bed, stretching my arms up above me, feeling my muscles stretch and release as the sunlight caressed my naked body, warming my skin. I made my way over to the cascading pool on the other side of my room and climbed down into the heated waters with a soft groan of pleasure. Submerging myself I leaned back against the edge, my eyes closing and thoughts drifting.

They always drifted to her in such quiet moments, cycling through the memories I had of her – most of them filled with fear or pain or desperation… but there were a couple that sparkled with the brilliance that was her soul and I lingered over those, caressing them with gentle tendrils of loving darkness. My mind brought up last night, and the shoe, and I barked out a laugh at the memory. Oh Feyre… that temper of hers was delightful. And that shoe, the force with which she had thrown it at me, it bespoke of powers greater than anyone might have guessed. A mortal reborn from the power of seven High Lords, what gifts might we have given her? The thought made me breathless with excitement.

I opened my eyes, no longer relaxed, instead my body felt jittery with excitement, my heart racing with a need to see her. I quickly began to bathe, scrubbing myself down and washing my hair, then climbing out of the pool, pulling a towel down from the rack on the wall and drying myself off. I walked over to my armoire, opening it and digging through it. Nearly everything inside was black, not only did I look splendid in black – I was a slightly vain creature – it also played well into my role as the High Lord of the infamous Night Court. However the outfits differed in quality and cut, some were extremely elegant and regal, others only good for sparing. I picked one that was midway between the two, simple and clean cut – I wanted to portray for her someone who could be trusted; she had seen the terrifyingly powerful High Lord, I wanted to show her another side of me, a side of me that could be trusted. It might not happen today or tomorrow, but maybe over time… maybe over time she could trust me. I would not hope for love, but… maybe I could earn her trust, maybe even her friendship. I didn’t deserve it, but maybe I could earn it. I would never stop trying to be worthy of her.

It was still quite early in the day, and I knew how poorly she normally slept, and the thought brought me up short. She… she hadn’t had a nightmare last night, at least not like the ones she always had at the Spring Court. She hadn’t run to the toilet to throw up. She… she had slept, maybe not peacefully, but… but not filled with as much terror and grief. The thought warmed me and suffused my body with peace and happiness. Smiling I made my way through the palace down to the kitchens, which were not often in use but last night I had sent a request for Nuala and Cerridwen to join me here from the townhouse, and already they were fast at work preparing food for the day. With chagrin, I had realized last night that I had no idea what foods Feyre might like, and with how thin she was I wanted to tempt her palate in the hope that, this week at least, we could help rebuild her strength and her body.

They both looked up as I stood in the doorway, Nuala dusting her hands off on her apron and approached me, bowing at the waist with Cerridwen staying at the counter to bow as well before returning to her work  – a formality I did not expect at the townhouse, but was followed here at the Night Court; appearances mattered and you never knew for sure who might be watching.

“Good morning High Lord, how might we help you?” She spoke in a voice that was quiet and tinged with a sliver of shadow.

I slid my hands into my pockets, “Give her a couple more hours, she needs the sleep, then wake her and pass on my invitation of breakfast.”

Nuala nodded her ascent, “Of course High Lord. Would you like anything until then?”

I nodded once, “Tea, please.” Nuala bowed again and made her way to the stove to put the kettle on.

I turned and made my way back upstairs, pausing once at the hallway her room was down, listening… for what, I wasn’t sure. Then made my way to the glass dining table that sat under an open-air veranda and took my seat at one end of it, leaning back to cast my gaze out over the mountains. Minutes later I felt a subtle tug sent from Nuala, and with a casual gesture of my hand a tea tray appeared in front of me, a steaming pot of tea tempting me with its rich scent. Leaning forward I poured myself a cup, and spooned in a single spoonful of sugar, stirring it then placing the spoon aside. I picked up the cup and just held it in my hands, enjoying the warmth of it against my skin as I thought and planned, hoped and prayed, until my head ached right along with my heart.

\- - - ~*~ - - -

I felt her wake up, the slow dawn of consciousness, confusion and then resignation as she realized where she was, followed by a throbbing steady ache of her head. I frowned at that… she wasn’t sleeping or eating enough. Mor’s words from last night echoed through me, _“…her soul is bruised and tired_.” My hands tightened into fists and I closed my eyes, forcing myself to breath slowly while I waited.

When she sank into the pool in her room I smiled at the wave of pleasure that rushed through her, amused at the thought that made its way down the bond of staying in the pool all day. I was tempted to let her, since it brought her so much happiness, but she needed to eat, so I reached for the bond and gave it a gentle tug, my amusement making its way down the bond towards her. Her response to that tug was annoyance and a touch of defiance and it made me chuckle, and tug lightly again. I felt her climb out of the pool with angry resignation.

Sitting up straight in my chair I gestured briefly, summoning the food that Nuala and Cerridwen had so ardently prepared – honestly it was too much food, but I wanted her to have options. I finally heard the whispered caress of her slippers across the floor as she reached the top of the stairwell, and smiled briefly, waiting for her to draw closer. It hardly took a bond to feel her annoyance as she stared at me and then spit out crossly, “I’m not a dog to be summoned.”

Looking over my shoulder at her I felt my breath catch at the sight of her, adorned in the Night Court fashion she was… she was radiance. But I could not ignore the other reality, the still dark shadows under her eyes, and how thin, Cauldron, how thin her body was. I forced myself to be calm and neutral as I responded blandly, “I didn’t want you to get lost.”

I watched as her gaze flickered to the tea pot in front of me with longing, and I almost smiled. “I thought it’d always be dark here,” she said, as though she was trying to distract me from her true intentions.

Motioning for her to sit I began to explain patiently, “We’re one of the three Solar Courts.” She slid into the upholstered chair across from me, leaving the one between us empty – a barrier between her and I. “Our nights are far more beautiful, and our sunsets and dawns are exquisite, but we do adhere to the laws of nature.”

I watched curiosity bloom inside of her as she took in the information I gave her, processed it and asked another question, “And do the other courts choose not to?”

So many questions, so little she knew and so beautiful the way her mind soaked it up and reached for more, a huntress on the prowl for knowledge. “The nature of the Seasonal Courts,” I continued to explain, “is linked to their High Lords, whose magic and will keeps them in eternal spring, or winter, or fall, or summer. It has always been like that – some sort of strange stagnation. But the Solar Courts – Day, Dawn and Night – are more… symbolic in nature. We might be powerful, but even we cannot alter the sun’s path or strength.” I gestured to the tea in front of me, refreshed and filled minutes before she had arrived, “Tea?”

She gave a restrained nod and I wanted to chuckle, but held it back as I continued to give her more of an explanation while pouring her a cup, “But you will find,” I passed the cup over the table to her, “that our nights are more spectacular – so spectacular that some in my territory even awaken at sunset and go to bed at dawn, just to live under the starlight.” She took the cup and splashed some milk into it, a detail I filed away to remember from now on.

“Why is it so warm in here, when winter is in full blast out there?” She asked me as she watched her tea cup.

I perked a brow and thought the answer obvious, “Magic.”

I felt a spike of annoyance at my answer before she said, “Obviously,” and lifted her cup to take a sip, hearing her sigh with pleasure, “But why?”

Glancing back to the mountains I shrugged, “You heat a house in the winter – why shouldn’t I heat this place as well? I’ll admit I don’t know _why_ my predecessors built a palace fit for the Summer Court in the middle of a mountain range that’s mildly warm at best, but who am I to question?”

Turning my attention back to her, I watched the lines furrowing her brow begin to ease as her headache was staved off. She reached for a bowl of fruit and scooped some onto her plate, and some knot of tension inside of me eased to see her begin to eat. I swallowed and paused, then said tentatively, “You’ve lost weight.”

I felt her annoyance and maybe a touch of embarrassment flare down the bond as she responded, “You’re prone to digging through my head whenever you please. I don’t see why you’re surprised by it.” She stabbed her fork into a piece of melon and brought it her mouth, chewing and swallowing.

I couldn’t help but smile lightly at her response, “Only occasionally will I do that. And I can’t help it if _you_ send things down the bond.”

She hesitated a moment, seeming to argue with herself before finally asking, “How does it work – this _bond_ that allows you to see into my head?”

Glancing away I picked up my cup and took a slow sip from it – another time for half-truths. Setting my cup down again I leaned back and said slowly, “Think of the bargain’s bond as a bridge between us – and at either end is a door to our respective minds. A shield. My innate talents allow me to slip through the mental shields of anyone I wish, with or without that bridge – unless they’re very, very strong, or have trained extensively to keep those shields tight. As a human, the gates to your mind were flung open for me to stroll through. As fae…” I shrugged slightly, “Sometimes you unwittingly have a shield up – sometimes, when emotion seems to be running strong, that shield vanishes. And sometimes, when those shields are open, you might as well be standing at the gates of your mind, shouting your thoughts across the bridge to me. Sometimes I hear them; sometimes I don’t.” I studied her again, there was enough truth in what I said to make me nervous, but there was enough distance between our souls to make me confident she wouldn’t see the lie and the thought saddened me.

She scowled at me, angry I thought, at the reality that she once again did not have control of something in her life, and I watched as she clenched her fork tightly. “And how often do you just rifle through my mind when my shields are down?” She spit out in accusation.

Any hint of smile fled my face at the question, and I felt my chest tighten as I gave her a full truth, a terrifying truth, one that haunted me nearly every night. “When I can’t tell if your nightmares are real threats or imagined.” I studied her face again, the anger written there and continued, “When you’re about to be married and you silently beg anyone to help you. Only when you drop your mental shields and unknowingly blast those things down the bridge.” Taking a breath, I then quirked a brow at her, “And to answer your question before you ask, yes. Even with your shields up, I could get through them if I wished. You could train though – learn how to shield against someone like me, even with the bond bridging our minds and my own ability.”

I hoped she would see the offer in my words, but if she did, she didn’t accept it and instead she redirected. “What do you want with me? You said you’d tell me here. So, tell me.”

Smirking slightly I folded me arms across my chest, already prepared for her outburst the next words would inspire in her. “For this week? I want you to learn how to read.”

Her response was tamer than I expected, but her refusal was unflinching regardless. “No, thank you.”

“You’re going to be a High Lord’s wife,” the words were bitter in my mouth as I said them and I tried not to choke on what I said next, “You’ll be expected to maintain your own correspondences, perhaps even give a speech or two. And the Cauldron knows what else he and Ianthe will deem appropriate for you. Make menus for dinner parties, write thank-you letters for all those wedding gifts, embroider sweet phrases on pillows…” I couldn’t help the hint of disgust that tainted my words. “It’s a necessary skill. And you know what? Why don’t we throw in shielding while we’re at it? Reading and shielding – fortunately, you can practice them together.”

She glared at me, “They are _both_ necessary skills,” she said angrily through her teeth, “but _you_ are not going to teach me.”

Ah her anger, even with it burning hotly towards me, I couldn’t help but admire it. And taunt her slightly – it played into the mask I wore, but it was also something I wanted her to think about, something I wanted her to fight for as ardently as she fought against me.

“What else are you going to do with yourself? Paint? How’s that going these days, Feyre?”

The red slash of color that spread across her cheeks was entrancing, burning with her anger as she nearly snarled at me, “What the hell does it even matter to you?”

It mattered to me because she deserved to have control, to have freedom, to read, to write, to shield and protect herself – it wasn’t a privilege it was her inherent right and I wanted to help her discover that. I wanted her to claim that power inside of herself and I wanted to help her do it, so much that it made my body ache with the need to help her. I couldn’t say that of course, but I wanted to, I felt it there, on the tip of my tongue, hot and spicy like the tea we had been drinking, like how I imagined she would taste... 

“It serves various purposes of mine, of course,” I said instead, half-truths and distractions.

“What. Purposes,” She bit out the words harshly.

I smirked, as she had begun to walk into the lure, the temptation as Mor had suggested, and taunted her lightly, encouraging her to ask, to push me. “You’ll have to agree to work with me to find out, I’m afraid. 

And then I heard it, the faint sound of metal bending and I glanced down to the fork in her hand, disfigured and folded into a crumpled mess of metal. A surge of pleasure flooded through me; she did, she had power, like last night, like now – _Oh Feyre, what a wonder you are_. I chuckled and simply said, “Interesting.”

She scowled at me, “You said that last night.”

I wanted to grin, “Am I not allowed to say it twice?”

Her scowl deepened, practically glaring at me, “That’s not what I was implying, and you know it.”

I ran my gaze over her again, letting my eyes linger over her body, seeing past the signs of neglect to the soul buried within, the radiance beneath and all that it entailed. I finally looked back at the mangled fork and asked simply, “Has anyone ever told you that you’re rather strong for a High Fae?”

The question almost seemed to catch her off guard, “Am I?”

Reaching for the bowl of fruit I speared a piece of melon with my fork, “I’ll take that as a no.” Popping the fruit into my mouth I chewed slowly, savoring the crisp tartness of it before I said, “Have you tested yourself against anyone?”

She stared at me with… resignation? “Why would I?” As though she couldn’t face the reality that she might be more than she once was – a simple human, as though it would break her to find out the truth. And the thought of that nearly broke me – because she should be excited to explore her new life, should be delighted to find out the secrets of her new powers. I wouldn’t deny her the right to be scared and uncertain, suddenly being gifted immortal life would be a strain on anyone, but there should still have been a spark of curiosity and… there wasn’t, in fact it was as though there was fear at what might be lurking beneath the surface.

I tried to reach out to her, not with my hands but with my words, hoping I could help her past that fear, hoping that buried in there somewhere was that spark, that it hadn’t been snuffed out entirely. “Because,” I said slowly, “you were resurrected and reborn by the combined powers of the seven High Lords. If I were you, I’d be curious to see if anything else transferred to me during the process.”

She stilled and withdrew from me, in both body and spirit, “Nothing else _transferred_ to me.”

No, no, don’t pull back, not yet… not ever. _Please._ I leaned towards her slightly, smirking – something that I noticed always riled her ire and said, “It’d just be rather… interesting, if it did.” 

She shook her head once, denying and deflecting in one motion, “It didn’t, and I’m not going to learn to read or shield with you.”

Ugh. This female. She would be the death of me. I rested my hands flat on the table, “Why? From spite? I thought you and I got past that Under the Mountain.”

Her entire demeanor changed, to that of anger and pain and a broken thing, both retreating and lashing out in desperation, as though backed into a corner, unwilling to submit but realizing it had nowhere to turn, hopeless and angry at that reality, and with her words she cut me down, destroyed me, shattered me. “Don’t get me started on what you did to me Under the Mountain.”

I froze. I died. I _hated_ myself – she could not even begin to imagine the amount of self-hatred that roiled through me at this very moment. Her own self-loathing couldn’t begin to compare. I wanted to throw myself off the edge of the mountain and fall, and fall, and fall – never to rise again. I felt the shadows, the darkness that frightens, that haunted me, tormented me, flaring inside of me; panic and terror suffusing every fiber of my being that caused my breathing to come in great gasps. I felt the shadows of my wings beginning to form as I began to lose control of myself, I felt my mind beginning to shatter before her. I opened my mouth, I don’t know what I was going to say, except to plead, to beg, to prostrate myself before her…

And like a breath of fresh air I felt her. Morrigan. She had a knack at arriving right in the nick of time. I felt her climbing up the stairs and took the unexpected shock of her presence to force my head clear, to beat back the shadows that threatened to engulf and devour me. Leaning back in my chair, I once again adopted my casual attitude and somehow managed a lazy grin, “We have company. We’ll discuss this later.”

Even though she had watched me nearly fall apart before her, she had no reaction to it, and simply responded matter-of-factly, “No, we won’t.”

I smirked then turned my head to watch my cousin approach, dressed in similar clothing to what Feyre wore but in brilliant turquoise.

“Hello, hello!” She said cheerily, smiling brilliantly as her brown eyes glanced briefly at me then settled on Feyre in warm welcome.

“Feyre,” I said calmly, “meet my cousin, Morrigan. Mor, meet the lovely, charming, and open-minded Feyre.” I saw the flash of annoyance on Feyre’s face at my introduction and couldn’t help grinning a bit.

Mor reached the table and said warmly, “I’ve heard so much about you,” glancing at me with a playful grin, while Feyre stood and held out her hand, awkward and uncertain. Mor, as always, ignored such polite pleasantries and instead reached out and grabbed Feyre, pulling her into a tight hug, squeezing her. And I had the sudden realization that perhaps no one had hugged Feyre like this since she was reborn, maybe not ever, not with the simple joy of friendship.

Mor pulled back to look at her and grinned mischievously, “You look like you were getting under Rhys’s skin,” stepping around she slid into the chair between us as Feyre sat back down, her eyes uncertain and… almost delighted. “Good thing I came along. Though I’d enjoy seeing Rhys’s balls nailed to the wall.”

I stared at Mor, a brow arched, almost incredulous at her approach. Though I didn’t miss the slight tug at Feyre’s lips as she tried not to smile, then she said cautiously, “It’s – nice to meet you.”

Mor ignored my stare as she reached for the tea pot, and teased playfully, “Liar,” and poured herself a cup of tea before beginning to load her plate with food, “You want nothing to do with us, do you? And wicked Rhys is making you sit here.”

_Mor… what are you doing?_

I sent a tendril of thought to her mind, even as I spoke out loud, “You’re… perky today, Mor.”

_Shut up._

Was all she thought back at me as she looked at me with amusement, “Forgive me for being excited about having company _for once_." 

I tensed at the undertone of what she was saying, because she wasn’t talking about just some random stranger visiting – that wasn’t entirely unheard of in the Night Court. No, she was referring to the fact that I had finally, _finally_ , brought Feyre here. Dangerous ground, she was dancing her way across dangerous ground.

I frowned at her slightly, “You could be attending your own duties.” I had asked her to stay, but if she was going to let it slip…

She smiled at me lazily, taunting me, “I needed a break, and you told me to come here whenever I liked, so what better time than now, when you brought my new friend to finally meet me?”

I could feel a low growl building up inside of me as I stared at her.

_Morrigan do not…_

I sent to her harshly.

_Oh, be quiet, I am not going to tell her anything._

She spoke back to me, and without giving me a chance to respond she continued.

_But you should._

“You two look nothing alike,” Feyre’s words caught my attention again, and I turned to watch her eat another piece of melon, relaxing slightly as she did not seem to pick up on the subtle truths Mor had been laying at her feet. My shoulders were still tense with strain and nerves, but I leaned back in my chair and answered calmly, “Mor is my cousin in the _loosest_ definition.”

Mor grinned at me before she devoured another bite of food, and the sight made me think over what Feyre had eaten – only some fruit and not nearly enough. I fretted as I continued, “But we were raised together. She’s my only surviving family.”

I saw Feyre tense slightly at that comment and wondered how much Tamlin had told her of our bloody history. I doubted he had told her much, if anything. The bastard.

“And as my only remaining relative, Mor believes she is entitled to breeze in and out of my life as she sees fit.”

Mor grinned with delight at me as she reached for the basket of muffins, “So grumpy this morning!”

Feyre was studying Mor closely now, then said with uncomfortable certainty, “I didn’t see you Under the Mountain.”

Mor didn’t hesitate, at least not in her words, but perhaps in her motions as she had begun to cut open and butter the muffins, but now paused as she responded. “Oh,” she said simply, “I wasn’t there, I was in-“

I stepped in, speaking more harshly than I had intended but with a note of finality, “Enough, Mor.”

Feyre was watching with eyes dark with curiosity, and as much as I loved the sight, there were some secrets she could not know. Net yet. Maybe… maybe not ever. 

I sat my napkin down on the table and stood, gesturing to Mor, “Mor will be here the rest of the week, but by all means, do not feel that you have to oblige her with your presence.” Mor stuck her tongue out at me, and I rolled my eyes before turning my attention back to Feyre and her plate. It was empty, but it had not been all that full to begin with, yet I felt a need to get her away from Mor before she ‘slipped’ and said something I couldn’t explain away. We would be having words later. “Did you eat enough?” Feyre nodded and I gestured, “Good. Then let’s go.” I tilted my head in the direction I intended to lead her, “Your first lesson awaits.”

Mor continued to work her way through her food, though she cast her attention towards Feyre and smiled again, warm and playful, “If he pisses you off, Feyre, feel free to shove him over the rail of the nearest balcony.”

I glared at her and flashed her a rude gesture before I strode off down the hall, listening to make sure Feyre was following.

“Enjoy your breakfast,” I heard Feyre murmur before her footfalls followed mine.

“Whenever you want company,” I heard Mor respond, “give a shout.”

As much as I wanted Feyre to feel safe enough to confide in Mor, I was suddenly nervous about them being alone together – already Mor had taken too many liberties. We were definitely going to have a talk later on, and she was going to behave herself.

Even though Mor and I were not linked by anything more than distant familial bonds, I swore I could have heard her whisper of laughter followed by, _Not a chance._

I almost growled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This endeavor is my first ever fanfiction attempt, and it has been a blast to play with so far.
> 
> I would love to see your comments about what I'm writing!
> 
> So please hit me up with what you think! - Otter


	6. This Is How You Spell "Prick"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: If you have not read A Court of Mist and Fury by Sarah J. Maas I strongly suggest you go read it first - it's undoubtedly better written and what I have written will spoil the book for you.
> 
> I am re-writing all of ACOMAF from Rhysand's perspective, using all of the original characters/scenes/dialogue, and adding in new bits and bobs to flesh his story out more.
> 
> This Section:  
> Ch. 1 - Rhysand's return home from Under the Mountain  
> Ch. 2 - Rhysand shares Feyre's nightmare  
> Ch. 3 - Rhysand rescues Feyre from her wedding  
> Ch. 4 - Feyre throws her shoe at Rhysand  
> Ch. 5 - Rhysand and Feyre have breakfast together  
> Ch. 6 - Feyre learns to read and write  
> Ch. 7 - Rhysand tells Feyre about Hybern  
> Ch. 8 - Rhysand takes Feyre back to the Spring Court
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> *Disclaimer - I do not take credit for the any of the characters or the world created by Sarah J. Maas.

We retreated to a small alcove, the table in front of us cluttered with books and paper, and Feyre had never looked more uncomfortable. It was almost funny. Almost. Except that I could feel how her stomach knotted and saw her shoulders hunching in with shame and yes, even fear over something as slight as learning to read. I wanted to hold her, blessed Mother, I just wanted to hold her, to soothe her, to make the world right for her again. But I couldn’t… She wouldn’t accept what I wanted to offer her, which was only everything I had to give. So instead I slid a piece of paper in front of her that had the alphabet written out in clear rows of letters.

“I know my alphabet,” she snapped, but the bite of her words was tempered with embarrassment, “I’m not that stupid.”

I watched as her hands twisted, and were then shoved beneath her thighs, watched as she wouldn’t quite meet my gaze. “I didn’t say you were stupid,” I said softly, gently, wishing I could reach out and smooth the furrow of her brow, tilt her chin up so I could see her beautiful eyes, wishing she would trust me, just a little. Instead I leaned back and said, “I’m just trying to determine where we should begin. Since you’ve refused to tell me a thing about how much you know.”

Her cheeks darkened with a blush, and it was enchanting to watch. “Can’t you hire a tutor?”

I arched a brow at her, “Is it that hard for you to even try in front of me?”

She deflected, even turning her head away from me slightly, as though studying the titles of the books at the end of the table. “You’re a High Lord – don’t you have better things to do?”

I smiled and teased her gently, keeping her ire up was the best way to work with her, for now at least – she became bold when she was angry, she became alive. “Of course. But none as enjoyable as seeing you squirm.

She swung her head back to look at me, glaring and snapped out, “You’re a real bastard, you know that?”

I let out a low laugh, “I’ve been called worse. In fact, I think you have called me worse.” I reached up and tapped on the paper sitting on the table in front of me, the one I had written last night, right after talking to Mor. “Read that.

She barely glanced at it before she mumbled, “I can’t.”

“Try.” Was all I said, continuing to watch her.

“What, exactly, is your stake in all this? You said you’d tell me if I worked with you.” More deflection, more stalling, the anxiety was a roiling, all-consuming darkness inside of her.

“I didn’t specify when I’d tell you.” I shrugged with a playful smirk, and taunted her a little again, “Maybe I resent the idea of you letting those sycophants and war-mongering fools in the Spring Court make you feel inadequate. Maybe I indeed enjoy seeing you squirm. Or maybe-“

“I get it,” she snapped.

I snorted, vaguely amused, “Try to read it, Feyre.”

Prick. The word shot down the bond to slam against the walls surrounding my mind and I nearly chortled at the sharpness of it. Ah Feyre, my Feyre…

She reached over, snatching the piece of paper still resting beneath my fingers, nearly ripping it in half as she yanked it in front of her and glared down at it. I watched her mouth form around the letters, working the sound of the word out in her head before she began to form it out loud. “Y-you…” Her brows furrowed with concentration as she sounded out the next word, then said hesitantly, “Look…”

I smiled, though she didn’t notice, and murmured encouragingly, “Good.”

She flashed her eyes to mine and snapped sharply, “I didn’t ask for your approval.”

I chuckled and leaned back, waiting as she looked back down at the paper and begin to work on the next word. It was longer, difficult compared to the first two and it took her several minutes before she said slowly, “Ab… Absolutely.”

I ran my fingers over the arm of the chair, tracing the grain in the wood, watching her with fascination as her mind processed the words, her lips, oh Cauldron her lips, forming the sounds with hesitation, yes, but also with determination. I wanted to touch those lips, I wanted to trace the outline of them with my fingers, my lips… I swallowed and shifted in my seat, trying to focus my thoughts as she began to struggle with the next word, “De… Del…” Finally, her gaze raised to meet mine, her brows raised, to stubborn to ask for help, but needing it all the same. I would not abandon her, not in death, not in her nightmares, and not in this, not ever. “Delicious,” I purred to her.

Her brows tightened further as she cast her gaze back down to the paper, and worked her way through the rest of it in silence, then whipped her head to look at me, the anger and outright disbelief echoing itself through the sentence she hurled back at me, “You look absolutely delicious today, Feyre?! That’s what you wrote?”

I reclined against the back of my chair, and as our eyes met, I extended my claws, brushing them over the contours of her mind and whispered sweetly in her head: It’s true, isn’t it?

She staggered back in her seat, groaning and shouting with a touch of fear, “Stop that!”

But I did not withdraw, and instead sunk the tips of my claws into her mind, gently, carefully, but deeply enough that her entire body froze beneath my hold, and all she could do is stare at me with her eyes wide, pupils dilated, her breathing coming in short, terrified gasps.

The fashion of the Night Court suits you. I whispered inside her mind, smiling humorlessly at her. This is what happens when you leave your mental shields down.

I ever so slightly sunk my claws in deeper, not too far, not enough to damage her, just enough to emphasize my point.

Someone with my sort of powers could slip inside, see what they want, and take your mind for themselves. Or they could shatter it. I’m currently standing on the threshold of your mind… but if I were to go deeper, all it would take would be half a thought from me and who you are, your very self, would be wiped away.

I watched as a drop of sweat beaded at her temple and slide down the curve of her face.

You should be afraid. You should be afraid of this, and you should be thanking the gods-damned Cauldron that in the past three months, no one with my sorts of gifts has run into you. Now shove me out.

I watched her as she felt around inside her mind, felt my claws sunk into her, and before she even tried, I felt her begin to give up. I nearly growled at her, and instead said sharply, harshly inside her mind, my voice tinged with the edge of my power as High Lord – a command that could not be ignored.

Shove. Me. Out.

She began to blindly push and shove against me, thrashing like a wild bird caught in a cage. I would not relent in this; I could not go easy on her – not in this. She had to learn this, it was vital for her to learn how to protect herself, her mind. But I could tell she needed a direction, a path to work towards, a stepping stone. I let a soft chuckle roll through her mind, then directed without movement, a thing that can only be done in thoughts, That way, Feyre.

I felt her turn and see the small path, gleaming and solid in her mind. Her path out. But I could feel her despair as she took in each of my claws sunk into her, far too many, countless, she could not afford to unhook each one at a time… I waited, patient as she swirled and danced inside of her mind, contemplating, and then…

I felt it and was awed by it and delighted. She summoned the essence that was her being, gathered it all together, and then released it in a tidal wave that washed through her mind, shoving against my claws, pushing them out – on its own it wouldn’t quite have been enough to evict me from her mind, but the idea and the effort was brilliant, and for the attempt alone I removed my claws and freed her thoughts.

“Good,” was all I said out loud, as I watched her body slump down against the seat – she was already tired, and if that wasn’t a testament to how neglected her body and mind were, then nothing would be. But I couldn’t let her rest, not yet, she had to learn, she had to protect herself.

“Not yet,” I demanded, “Shield. Block me out so I can’t get back in.”

She withdrew further inside of herself, wanting to surrender, to give in and rest… I reached out and stroked my claws across her mind, taunting her, threatening her with what I could do.

Her mind stiffened and I felt her re-order her thoughts and felt as a solid wall of adamant formed around her mind and slammed down against my claws with far more force than was necessary, forcing me to pull back only seconds before the wall would have impacted against me.

I grinned at her, the pride I felt surely shining through my eyes, surely she could see it, take heart from it. “Very nice. Blunt, but nice.”

If she could see it, she did not respond to it, and instead grabbed the paper resting on the table in front of her and shredded it in two, then four and snarled at me, “You’re a pig.”

I just shook my head; she was too stubborn for her own good. “Oh, most definitely. But look at you –“ I admired her again, why couldn’t she see her own potential? There was nothing she could not do when she set her brilliant mind to doing it, there was no task she could not face down with aplomb, ah… Feyre. “You read that whole sentence, kicked me out of your mind, and shielded. Excellent work.”

Her face turned bitter and she sniped at me, “Don’t condescend to me.”

I sighed at her, “I’m not. You’re reading at a level far higher than I anticipated.”

Her cheeks burned once again and she looked away from me, mumbling with embarrassment again, “But mostly illiterate.”

I leaned forward in my chair and corrected her, “At this point, it’s about practice, spelling, and more practice. You could be reading novels by Nynsar. And if you keep adding to those shields, might very well keep me out entirely by then, too.”

I saw something startle across her face, subtle, and uncertain, before she finally looked back at me and asked with her faint glimmer of curiosity. “Is it even possible – to truly keep you out?”

I shrugged again, “Not likely, but who knows how deep that power goes? Keep practicing and we’ll see what happens.”

“And will I still be bound by this bargain at Nynsar, too?” There is was, that look she had a moment ago laid out in words before me. My heart contracted and I stared at her in silence.

She pushed me, “After – after what happened –“ she fell silent a moment, as though trying to talk about what happened Under the Mountain was like slogging through a mire of sucking mud, and finally gave up on explaining, only to say, “I think we can agree that I owe you nothing, and you owe me nothing.”

I continued to stare at her, I couldn’t bear to look anywhere else. She was right of course, she owed me absolutely nothing, but I… I owed her everything. My life, my court, my… my soul. I owed every single thing that I was to her. And yet… I couldn’t free her; I couldn’t let her go. After her panic at the wedding, after seeing her body, thin and neglected, after feeling her nightmares night after night for months… I couldn’t let her go, because there was a small, terrified part of me, that screamed, if I let her go, I will lose her forever. And I could tell her none of it.

Her argument picked up momentum and she blazed on, “Isn’t it enough that we’re all free?” She rested her arm on the table, displaying the tattoo that swirled over her skin. “By the end, I thought you were different, thought that it was all a mask, but taking me away, keeping me here…” She trailed off, her brows furrowed again as though she was struggling to find words, to voice the outrage she felt inside.

My hands clenched on the arms of the chair and I said roughly, “I’m not your enemy, Feyre.”

She snapped back, fast and cutting, “Tamlin says you are.” Her hand curled into a fist, her nails biting into the eye tattooed on the palm of her hand. “Everyone else says you are.”

Enemy. I was an enemy to many people, but never, ever to her. I would sacrifice my life, my soul for her – I would kneel before her as I would do for no other, neither man nor beast, neither country nor ruler. My Feyre… my… my nothing. She was not mine. And yet I, I was not her enemy.

I leaned back, my face grave as I watched her, “And what do you think?”

“You’re doing a damned good job of making me agree with them.”

I nearly smiled, “Liar,” I purred and ran a finger along the arm of the chair again, wondering for once what it would feel like to run my finger down the length of her spine. “Did you even tell your friend about what I did to you Under the Mountain.”

She winced slightly, and said roughly, “I don’t want to talk about anything related to that. With you or them.”

“No, because it’s so much easier to pretend it never happened and let them coddle you.” I allowed a touch of disgust to frame my words.

She heard it and snapped back, defensive, “I don’t let them coddle me-“

Anger flared inside of me and I growled low and deep in my throat, “They had you wrapped up like a present yesterday. Like you were his reward.”

“So?” She said with a tone of such resignation that I wanted to rage and rip Tamlin to shreds.

“So?” I said, rage coloring the word so thickly I almost couldn’t get it out.

“I’m ready to be taken home,” she said, once again with resignation, with submission – it did not suit her, and it cut into me like a whip scouring my soul.

“Where you’ll be cloistered for the rest of your life, especially once you start punching out heirs.” The thought made bile start to claw its way up my throat and I had to clench my hands into fists again. “I can’t wait to see what Ianthe does when she gets her hands on them.”

“You don’t seem to have a particularly high opinion of her.”

A memory flashed... She stalked towards me, as though a predator on the prowl, her body naked and exposed, her lips curving with a knowing smile, and all I could feel was disgust…

My eyes narrowed, “No, I can’t say that I do.” The memory of Ianthe blended with those of Amarantha, and I could feel my stomach knotting, twisting up until I felt like retching, and I knew I needed to escape until I could work down the panic building up inside of me. I pointed to a blank piece of paper between us, “Start copying the alphabet. Until your letters are perfect. And every time you get through a round, lower and raise your shield. Until that is second nature. I’ll be back in an hour.”

My commands took her off guard and she frowned at me, “What?”

I was too distracted and upset to be as patient with her as I had been previously. “Copy. The. Alphabet. Until-“

“I heard what you said.” She snapped at me, and down the bond I could hear her chant.

Prick. Prick. Prick. Prick.

“Then get to work.” I stood slowly, feeling her thoughts crash into my walls, like waves that eroded what little confidence I still retained. “And at least have the decency to only call me a prick when your shields are back up.” It was cruel to say, but I wanted… I wanted her to see, even for a second, that her thoughts, her actions impacted me. I wanted her to understand that I lived and died by her very existence. I wanted her to know, to see… I just… wanted her. And I had never deserved her less.

Staring at her without a drop of hope left in me, I called out to the darkness within me, summoning it up and letting it swallow me as I winnowed out of the room and into my bedroom and what little sanctuary it afforded me.

\- - - ~*~ - - -

Mor was waiting for me. Again. Because of course she was. I let out a groan and released the darkness, then walked over to my bed and fell down face first into it and wondered briefly if I stopped breathing, would dying be less painful than Feyre’s hatred of me.

“I like her. If you can get that fire in her to stay lit, then she’ll keep you on your toes.” Was all Mor said as I continued to contemplate never breathing again. Finally, however, I turned my head and sucked in a cool breath, easing the subtle burn in my lungs that had started to spread only a moment before.

“She asked me to break the bargain. She said we owed each other nothing. She said I was her enemy, but if I broke the bargain it might prove I wasn’t.” I rolled onto my back, resting my hands on my chest as I stared up at the ceiling, my eyes tracing the shimmering patterns in the moonstone. “I understand that the bargain was a deal made under duress, but… why can’t she see, everything I have done for her has been out of sacrifice for her, to help her, to save her?”

Mor stood up and walked over to my bed, plopping down on the side of it then swiveled and crossed her legs, leaning her elbows on her knees, her hands folding together as she looked down at me. “I think perhaps because she doesn’t think she is deserving of that kind of sacrifice. That what you did was… wasted on her. And now she does owe you, and owing you is just one more thing that weighs down on her soul.” Mor studied my face a moment then said, “Break the bargain Rhys, and tell her the truth. Let her decide.”

My heart tightened and I swallowed audibly. “I can’t Mor… I just… if I break the bargain, Tamlin will lock her up, I’ll never see her again. And you saw what she looks like, how thin she is, she will waste away there…” I closed my eyes tightly, even as my mind traced along the bond connecting us, trailing my claws delicately down it, following it to where her mind was, not touching, just observing from a distance as she worked on her shields… Shield up, shield down… Shield up, shield down…

“So, tell her about the bond Rhys, that supersedes any bargain or claim Tamlin has on her. You can get her out, get her safe. Tell her the truth.”

I opened my eyes and met Mor’s eyes, such a warm, vibrant brown – it never ceased to amaze me that she could be so kind with all the suffering she had endured, and that she was so willing to share that kindness with others instead of keeping it all for herself. Willing to brave the horrors of the world with warmth and charity. My cousin, my friend… I envied her.

“Mor… I can’t. I can’t do that to her. I can’t put that burden on her, not now, maybe not ever. She is barely treading water as it is, I can’t tell her that the Cauldron has bound her to me for eternity.” No one deserves that fate, I thought, most especially not her.

Mor’s eyes darkened, as though she could read my thoughts, and wanted to argue… But I sat up and rested my arms on my knees, staring down at the ground between my feet, and said quietly, “Any news from Cassian or Azriel?”

The air was tight with tension for a moment, as Mor wavered between arguing with me, and doing her duty, but finally she relented and sighed, “Not yet, or at least nothing in relation to Hybern. Azriel was a bit upset that she is here, he doesn’t trust her, and he was adamant that you need to be careful about what you tell her. He suggested that if you are going to show her the maps, you remove the names in regard to the Night Court.”

I nearly smiled, Azriel was cautious to a fault sometimes… but he was likely right. It wasn’t so much that I didn’t trust Feyre, she had proven herself Under the Mountain, the few times that I told her more information than I should have, and she had breathed not a word of it. But she was dedicated to Tamlin, she trusted him and what he told her, and I had little doubt that he would grill her about her time here as soon as she was back in his clutches. I trusted her, but I also trusted he would use her love to force her to tell him everything she heard and saw while she was here. So, I would comply with Azriel’s suggestions – because I was going to show her the maps. And I was going to lay down the temptation for her, not a lie to give her purpose, but the truth to give her life meaning. A reason to live…

“And Cassian?” I asked.

“He didn’t say much, he’s staying at the Illyrian camps for the next few days, to remind them of who is in command.”

I lifted my head and glanced over my shoulder at her, “Has there been trouble?”

She shook her head, “Not yet, he has heard some grumbles and wanted to squash them at the source.”

I blew out a breath and nodded, then stood and stretched slowly as I ran everything through my head, trying to balance and organize it all into a pattern that made sense.

“Has Amren had anything to say?” I finally asked – save the best, or was it the worst, for last.

Mor was tracing her fingers over the silk sheets, watching me as I turned to face her, and she shook her head. “Not really, she’s been doing some research into the wall, trying to figure out how someone might be able to take it down – she says if she can figure that out then she might be able to find a way to counter it.”

I already had an idea of how Hybern might do it… but I wasn’t ready to tell anyone yet. I needed more information, and I needed Feyre to get it. I needed her to trust me, and I needed her to trust me fast. We were running out of time.

I fixed my gaze on Mor’s, studying her a moment, then said softly. “You cannot tell her Mor. I need you to promise me you will not tell her.”

She stared at me, and I could see the frustration and sadness burn in her lovely brown eyes. She was Morrigan, and her power was Truth, and this lie, this withheld truth ate at her very soul. But I held her gaze, not with the gaze of the High Lord, but only as her friend, her family, and requested, not with command but with love, that she not share this one truth with Feyre.

And with love burning in her eyes she acquiesced.

“I promise Rhys, I won’t tell her.” She paused, and then lifted her chin, and said one more time, a note of command in her tone, “But you should.”

I smiled faintly but turned and walked away from her to the balcony and stared out at the mountains until the end of the hour I had given Feyre was up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This endeavor is my first ever fanfiction attempt, and it has been a blast to play with so far.
> 
> I would love to see your comments about what I'm writing!
> 
> So please hit me up with what you think! - Otter


	7. A Reason To Live

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: If you have not read A Court of Mist and Fury by Sarah J. Maas I strongly suggest you go read it first - it's undoubtedly better written and what I have written will spoil the book for you.
> 
> I am re-writing all of ACOMAF from Rhysand's perspective, using all of the original characters/scenes/dialogue, and adding in new bits and bobs to flesh his story out more.
> 
> This Section:  
> Ch. 1 - Rhysand's return home from Under the Mountain  
> Ch. 2 - Rhysand shares Feyre's nightmare  
> Ch. 3 - Rhysand rescues Feyre from her wedding  
> Ch. 4 - Feyre throws her shoe at Rhysand  
> Ch. 5 - Rhysand and Feyre have breakfast together  
> Ch. 6 - Feyre learns to read and write  
> Ch. 7 - Rhysand tells Feyre about Hybern  
> Ch. 8 - Rhysand takes Feyre back to the Spring Court
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> *Disclaimer - I do not take credit for the any of the characters or the world created by Sarah J. Maas.

When I returned to Feyre’s alcove, I did so without stealth. I inherently knew how on edge she was – and while I was mildly curious to see how she might react if I startled her, if it would force some of her power out in response, I couldn’t bear the thought of scaring her that way… not when I wanted, and needed her to trust me so badly.

She had looked up at me with a face so pinched and tired that I ached for her, I wanted to tell her to rest… but I couldn’t, I knew how hard this would be for her, and I knew that kindness would not save her… only she could do that. So instead I stepped around behind her and looked down over her shoulder - it was a testament to how tired she was that she didn’t flinch at how close I was to her, and examined her sheets of paper, tracking her progress as she copied her letters over and over. Her improvement was noticeable and praise worthy, but she never responded well to my praise.

Instead I reached out and dragged my claws against her mind, meeting with a solid wall of glittering black adamant, and as I pushed and dug for any kind of weakness, I felt her push back, bracing her wall against me, and smiled behind her. I felt such pride in her strength, in her power, in her very being that I wanted to caress her…

“Well, well,” I purred instead, drawing my claws back from her mind, almost regretfully. “Hopefully I’ll be getting a good night’s rest at last, if you can manage to keep the wall up while you sleep.”

The suddenness of her attack, at the word she hurled at me, _Prick,_ and at how quickly and effectively she re-shielded before I could respond both shocked and amazed me and made me desperately want to laugh.

I just grinned, “Prick I might be, but look at you. Maybe we’ll get to have some fun with our lessons after all.”

\- - - ~*~ - - -

I could feel Feyre’s exhaustion brushing up against my back like the tendrils of the night curling around a weak winter dawn. What I was about to do to her next, what I was about to tell her… it could break her. The fear of it, the magnitude of it – and with her feeling so overwhelmed already, so helpless, hopeless… it might be too much.

My heart pounded with fear and uncertainty, the only thing that kept me from turning around and changing my mind were Mor’s words repeating over and over in my head. _Give her a purpose. A reason to live._ If she would not fight for herself, I knew, _knew_ she would fight for those she loved. And maybe that would be enough to draw her back from the brink, enough to rekindle her weary spirit. I could only hope and pray it would not break her before that could happen. _Please Feyre, fight for me…_

I led her up into a tower, along the winding stairs until we entered a circular chamber, with a large round table of black stone filling the center of it. Across one wall was a wide map, pinned and marked, and over the top of the table was another large map dotted with figurines – but I noticed the feature that caught her eyes first were the windows. She always looked for the openness of space, too afraid of being trapped, but also… maybe something else beneath the surface – the lack of wings on her back did not diminish the wings of her soul that ached to spread and claim the infinite sky.

I made my way to the table and stood beside it, arms crossed, and watched her, always watching her, and let her take her time, examining both maps, waiting to see what conclusions she would draw. She finally looked at me again, those lustrous gray-blue eyes meeting mine and I arched a brow in silent question of my own. She said nothing, almost seeming to swallow a question that had been on the tip of her tongue, she was so bloody stubborn.

“Nothing to ask?” I encouraged quietly.

“No.”

I smirked playfully, then gestured to the map on the wall with my chin. “What do you see?”

“Is this some sort of way of convincing me to embrace my reading lessons?” She asked with a touch of scorn.

The worst, she always assumed the worse of me… would that ever change?

“Tell me what you see.”

She glanced back at the map for a moment, considering, then responding so intuitively it nearly made me smile. “A world divided in two.”

I dropped my hands down onto the table before me and leaned forward slightly, staring at her hard as she still considered the map, “And do you think it should remain that way?”

Her head whipped around to look at me, her face blanching with panic, “My family-“ she froze, the panic deepening making her breathing erratic, as though she just realize the massive mistake she just made – admitting she had family, as though she thought I had no idea.

“Your human family,” I spoke softly, watching her knees jerk as though she wanted to fall but fought against it – she knew I had been in her mind, why did she think I would not know about them? But now it was time to show her the lure, to entice her with the only chance I had at saving her, and it might break her… _Please don’t break Feyre._ “Would be deeply impacted if the wall came down, wouldn’t they? So close to its border… If they’re lucky, they’ll flee across the ocean before it happens.”

She did not break. Not yet. “ _Will_ it happen?” She asked, nearly breathless with fear.

I did not look away from her, I did not abandon her in this moment were fear crested before her, an abyss of darkness and despair. “Maybe.”

“Why?” She whispered.

I did not smile, I did not smirk, I did not taunt. I answered her with nothing but absolute truth and prayed she would believe me. “Because war is coming, Feyre.”

She flinched back from me and in that moment I could see, not just feel or hear her thoughts, but actually see exactly how she felt about me – the hatred and fear and loathing, and I was not sure I had ever hated myself more, and I could see how deeply the vein of self-sacrifice ran inside of her, a mirror to my own. 

“Don’t invade,” she whispered, and I could hear it in her voice, the plea, “Don’t invade – please.” And I could see the way her knees began to bend, to submit to me and I would not _ever_ let her kneel to me, ever, not my Feyre – she bowed to no man nor crown.

I swallowed once, tilting my head as I stared at her, willing her to stand tall through my gaze – demanding she never kneel but rather fight - fight with everything she had in her, to never beg but always challenge. “You truly think I am a monster, even after everything.”

“Please,” she gasped, confirming what I said, “They’re defenseless, they won’t stand a chance-“ And she was not wrong, most of the humans on this island would not survive an attack unless something was done to stop Hybern. Unless she helped me.

“I’m not going to invade the mortal lands,” I told her quietly, unable to bear the look on her face a moment longer, the unshakeable belief that I was the monster my mask portrayed to the world.

I felt her control began to waiver then, and there was a small remote part of my mind proud that it had taken this long to crumble, but I felt the wall around her mind begin to slip and felt her panic and swirling thoughts begin to leak down the bond. She _had_ to stay in control of her mind, no matter how tired or scared she was, she had to keep that wall up, always.

“Put your damn shield up,” I growled at her.

I felt the defeat yawning inside of her again, the panic eroding the vestibules of confidence she still had left, and felt she wasn’t even going to try to put the shield back into place around her mind.

I gritted my teeth and released the barest hint of my power and nearly snarled at her, “Shield. _Now.”_ And then watched as she did, my beautiful Feyre, powerful even when exhausted and riddled with fear, rebuilt her shield, brick by brick. I was so proud of her, so in awe of her…

“Did you think it would end with Amarantha?” I asked her quietly when she had finished putting her wall back into place, and I watched her flinch when I said her name – even saying it made my own body tense with anger.

“Tamlin hasn’t said…” she trailed off as resignation crossed her face. No, he hadn’t said, he hadn’t told her anything, he had wrapped her in gossamer and lace and placed her on a pedestal as a trophy for all to admire but never touch. My hatred for the beast flared and raged down my spine, making my wings want to explode out behind me.

“The King of Hybern has been planning his campaign to reclaim the world south of the wall for well over a hundred years,” I explained to her as I forced my body to calm down. “Amarantha was an experiment – a forty-nine-year test, to see how easily and how long a territory might fall and be controlled by one of his commanders.” And we had all fallen, every single one of us, and if we were not diligent, if we did not work together, we would all of us fall together again. Our world would fall, fae and human alike.

She swallowed and asked quietly, “Will he attack Prythian first?”

Standing up straight again, “Prythian,” I gestured to the map on the table and said simply, “is all that stands between the King of Hybern and the continent. He wants to reclaim the human lands there – perhaps seize the faerie lands, too. If anyone is to intercept his conquering fleet before it reaches the continent, it would be us.”

I watched as she staggered to one of the chairs around the table and sank down into it, as though her knees could no longer bear the weight of such truth. _Please don’t break…_ I whispered to myself over and over in my mind as I watched her.

“He will seek to remove Prythian from his way swiftly and thoroughly,” I continued, giving her all the facts that Tamlin never would. “And shatter the wall at some point in the process. There are already holes in it, though mercifully small enough to make it difficult to swiftly pass his armies through. He’ll want to bring the whole thing down – and likely use the ensuing panic to his advantage.”

She stared at me, and I think… I think for once she trusted me, or at least, did not doubt me, and realization of that was like a sweet night breeze brushing over the tattered pieces of my own soul. “When – when is he going to attack? 

I let out a breath I had been holding in, “That is the question, and why I brought you here.” _Come on Feyre, play with me… A reason to fight._

She lifted her head and met my gaze, and for once her look as unreadable.

“I don’t know when or where he plans to attack Prythian,” I continued. “I don’t know who his allies here might be.” Not yet, but Azriel was working on it and he was good at what he did. We would know, at least a few of them soon, I was sure of it.

Something in Feyre’s demeanor changed, a slight shift, a touch of ice hovering around the edges of her gaze. “He’d have allies here?”

The sight of her sharp gaze made my heart skip a beat, my own voice going cold and hard, “Cowards who would bow and join him, rather than fight his armies again.” The mere thought of those bastards, bowing and scrapping and betraying their people to this tyrant made my darkness want to ripple out of me, made my power want to explode from me. It was only centuries of control that held it within. That, and Feyre’s voice, calling me back, with a voice that had gone tentative, almost… tender.

“Did… did you fight in the war?”

I stared at her for a moment, scenes from the countless battles flickering across my thoughts, and lingering on my last battle, and my capture, and everything that led to this moment with Feyre sitting before me and… and I wanted to tell her. I wanted to hold her and tell her everything, I wanted her to believe me. I wanted her to pick me – I didn’t deserve it, I did not deserve her, but I wanted it so deeply and thoroughly that my soul ached. 

But I couldn’t. I would not lay that burden on her. She deserved better.

Instead I nodded and replied, “I was young – by our standards, at least. But my father had sent aid to the mortal-faerie alliance on the continent, and I convinced him to let me take a legion of our soldiers.” My voice was matter-of-fact and colorless, giving her only the facts and little of the truth as I sat down opposite her, turning my gaze to the map, staring at it with eyes that saw not one single detail on it. “I was stationed in the south, right where the fighting was thickest. The slaughter was… I have no interest in ever seeing full-scale slaughter like that again.”

It was indescribable, the countless numbers of dead, so very many dead… and the casualty lists, those had been the worst of it. Every day I had looked through every name on those lists, looking for the ones that would have broken me and never finding them left me with a relief so palpable I could still taste it on my tongue all these years later. Swallowing, I blinked once to banish the memories and lifted my gaze to meet hers again and nearly startled at the look there, the kindness, the touch of sympathy that eased the lines around her eyes where such scorn for me usually stood permanent. I wanted to weep.

But I shifted the conversation away from the past and to the future, keeping her on task – this was not about me, but about her, and all of Prythian, and if we were to save fae and mortal alike, she had to choose to fight.

“But I don’t think the King of Hybern will strike that way – not at first. He’s too smart to waste his forces here, to give the continent time to rally while we fight him. If he makes his move to destroy Prythian and the wall, it’ll be through stealth and trickery. To weaken us. Amarantha was the first part of that plan. We now have several untested High Lords, broken courts with High Priestesses angling for control like wolves around a carcass, and a people who have realized how powerless they might truly be.”

She was quiet for several minutes before she finally asked, _finally_ reached for it, for a reason to live – even if she wasn’t ready to grasp it, reaching was the first step.

“Why are you telling me this?”

I leaned back in my chair, and never had I wanted to tell her the truth more – and never would the truth have been more detrimental. She would not fight for herself and being told that is exactly what I wanted from her would send her fleeing faster than if I had conjured Amarantha in front of her. Instead I deflected, giving her two reasons that were not lies, but were not nearly as important as the true reason.

“I am telling you for two reasons,” I said calmly. “One, you’re… close to Tamlin. He has men, but he also had long-existing ties to Hybern-“ both facts with made my stomach curdle with distaste.

Feyre’s eyes flashed and she immediately came to his defense in a way he had _never_ gone to hers, “He’d _never_ help the king-“

I held up a hand to forestall any further defense on _his_ part, or I really would hurl. “I want to know if Tamlin is willing to fight with us. If he can use those connections to our advantage. As he and I have strained relations,” an understatement if there ever was one, “you have the pleasure of being the go-between.”

And just like that I watched her soul sink back into nothingness, watched the fire which had begun to smolder again smother out. “He doesn’t inform me of those things.”

I wanted to slaughter Tamlin, I wanted to bury my claws inside of his mind and shred everything that he was, the way her withdrawl was shredding my soul with such unbearable sorrow. My voice turned sharp, my words cutting with the rage I barely managed to contain inside of myself.

“Perhaps it’s time he did. Perhaps it’s time you insisted.” I held her gaze and then looked back down to the map, directly at where the wall was indicted, trying to remind her why we had even had this conversation, to use her human family as a catalyst to her survival.

“What,” she asked quietly, and I head a flicker of the flame in her voice, “is your other reason?”

I shifted my gaze back to her and looked her over again, assessing not just her body, which was still thin and exhausted, but that brilliance that resided deep within, and gave her a full truth that I knew for certain she would not believe. “You have a skill set that I need.” I smiled slightly – not with humor but with awe, “Rumor has it you caught a Suriel.”

Her eyes flashed, I think it might have been with disbelief, or maybe a touch of amusement.

“It wasn’t that hard.”

I wanted to laugh, ah Feyre. “I’ve tried and failed.” I arched a brow at her. “Twice.” A grin touched my lips, as much as the memory was one edged with terror, it was still one of my favorite memories of her. “I saw you trap the Middengard Wyrm like a rabbit.” She flinched slightly from the memory, but I continued, “I need you to help me. To use those skills of yours to track down what I need.”

Disbelief colored her face, as though she could not imagine why anyone would ever need her help.

“What _do_ you need? Whatever was tied to my reading and shield, I’m guessing?”

“You’ll learn of that later.” I wanted to tell her, but I wanted her to push back more – I wanted her to demand that I explain everything.

She didn’t. She resigned herself. She accepted defeat.

_Tamlin._

I would kill that beast one day.

“There have to be at least a dozen other hunters more experienced and skilled-“

I cut her off quickly, “Maybe there are. But you’re the only one I trust.”

She just stared at me. “I could betray you whenever I feel like it.”

I let out a low chuckle, “You could. But you won’t.” I saw her anger surge, saw her about the snap at me, but I forged right on ahead, forestalling her. “And then there’s the matter of your powers.”

Her response was so fast it would have shocked me if I hadn’t been expecting it. “I don’t have any powers.”

Of course not. Because that might mean she was special. That she was not a prize to be rewarded, but rather a challenge to be dared.

I crossed my arms and studied her, “Don’t you? The strength, the speed… if I didn’t know better, I’d say you and Tamlin were doing a very good job of pretending you’re normal.” She averted her gaze slightly and I smirked, “That the powers you’re displaying aren’t usually the first indications among our kind that a High Lord’s son might become his Heir.”

“I’m not a High Lord.” She said with absolute resignation and acceptance to her assumed normalcy.

I leaned forward slightly, wishing she could, just once, see her the way I did. “No, but you were given life by all seven of us. Your very essence is tied to us, born of us. What if we gave you more than we expected?” I slid my gaze over her again slowly, wishing she would let that brilliance out to play, wishing if nothing else, she would remove her shoe and hurl it at me again. “What if you could stand against us – hold your own, a High Lady?” The last came out rough, almost guttural, a dream, a dream so remote it was only mere wisps of darkness on the edges of a night sky. A High Lady. My… my High Lady.

“There are no High Ladies.” Her words were final, there wasn’t even a thread of hope woven in among them.

I narrowed my gaze at her pronouncement, at the surge of anger that ripped through me again. When I responded my voice was thick with emotions I dared not reveal to her, and my words – they were bold, too bold, to indicative of a future I could only dream of.

“We’ll talk about _that_ later, too. But yes, Feyre – there can be High Ladies.” And I would crown you as mine if there was any chance you could ever want me. But then I leaned back and exhaled slowly, “And perhaps you aren’t one of them, but… what if you were something similar? What if you were able to wield the power of seven High Lords at once? What if you could blend into darkness, or shape-shift, or freeze over an entire room – an entire army?” 

She didn’t respond, except to stare at me, her gaze wary and secretive.

“Do you understand what that might mean in an oncoming war? Do you understand how it might destroy you if you don’t learn to control it?”

Her eyes flashed finally, and she snapped at me, “One, stop asking so many rhetorical questions. Two, we don’t know if I _do_ have these powers-“

I cut her off, because I knew, deep in my gut, in my bones, I knew she did. “You do. But you need to start mastering them. To learn what you inherited from us.”

She folded her arms across her chest, defensive, “And I suppose you’re the one to teach me, too? Reading and shielding aren’t enough?”

I nodded once, “While you hunt with me for what I need, yes.”

She shook her head, “Tamlin won’t allow it.”

I nearly growled again, “Tamlin isn’t your keeper, and you know it.”

“I’m his subject,” she said with resignation, with defeat, “and he is my High Lord-“

The rage that had been building in me and barely left to cool only moments ago surged out and I bared my teeth at her, the darkness rippling out of me as I tried to keep myself from letting it completely explode from me in front of her.

“You are _no one’s subject.”_

She froze, seeming to not even breath, staring at me with wide eyes, her pupils dilated with fear.

I gritted my teeth and forced the darkness down inside of me, I did not want to scare her, I wanted her to _see_. I wanted her to see herself the way that I did, that was all, just once.

I stood and walked away from her, folding my hands across my chest to hide my hands, balled tightly into fists as I said quietly, “I will say this once – and only once.” I kept my eyes on the map, though saw little of it, all of my attention on Feyre still seated behind me. “You can be a pawn, be someone’s reward, and spend the rest of your immortal life bowing and scraping and pretending you’re less than him, than Ianthe, than any of us. If you want to pick that road, then fine. A shame, but it’s your choice.” It would be more than a shame. It would be her death. I knew it, deep inside me, that if she continued to submit herself to Tamlin, that who she was - beautiful and brilliant and bold, all of that would die – while her body might continue to pump blood, to breath, what made Feyre radiant would wither and die. And the thought brought forth the surge of darkness inside me again and I had to struggle to contain it.

“But I know you – more than you realize, I think – and I don’t believe for one damn minute that you’re remotely fine with being a pretty trophy for someone who sat on his ass for nearly fifty years, then sat on his ass while you were shredded apart-“

Her voice cut into mine, “Stop it-“

But I blazed on, unrelenting, “Or, you’ve got another choice. You can master whatever powers we gave to you, and make it count. You can play a role in this war. Because war is coming one way or another, and do not try to delude yourself that any of the fae will give a shit about your family across the wall when our whole territory is likely to become a charnel house.”

I turned finally and stared at her as her gaze fell on the map, her eyes lingering over the tiny of slip of land where her family, where all the humans still on this island were residing.

“You want to save the mortal realm?” I asked her, almost gently. “Then become someone Prythian listens to. Become vital. Become a weapon. Because there might be a day, Feyre, when only you stand between the King of Hybern and your human family. And you do not want to be unprepared.”

She looked at me than and I could see such pain in her eyes, tempered with fear and uncertainty all rooted in desperation born of the love for her family, for her sisters.

I wanted to tell her more, but I had laid it all out for her, the lure, the temptation, the truth – yes it was laced with half-truths and deflections, but the core of it was all there.

_A reason to live._

It had to be her choice, always her choice. There was nothing more that I could do, except pray – an action I had never partaken of much before, but now found myself doing more ardently than any sinner on their death bed.

Finally, I gave her a playful smile, drawing her scowl out again as I said, “Think it over. Take the week. Ask Tamlin, if it’ll make you sleep better. See what charming Ianthe says about it. But it’s your choice to make – no one else’s.”

\- - - ~*~ - - -

I left her alone for the rest of the week – I wanted to give her room to breathe, to think. I was close by, I couldn’t stand not to be, not when all I had was this week before she would be gone again for a month – but never where she could see me or sense me.

I could feel her though, so close by, her existence a balm to my soul – despite my many frustrations, I never felt more at peace than I had this week spent with her on top the mountain.

She took to the isolation better than I had hoped, I had hoped she might seek me out – but she never did. Nor did she go looking for Mor, and Nuala and Cerridwen reported she hadn’t asked after either of us. Her dismissal was painful, but understandable – we were not friends, in many ways we were barely acquaintances, and she had become used to isolation and quiet. 

I did not think it was good for her, except the isolation here was of her choosing rather than imposed on her as it appeared to be in the Spring Court. There were no sentries in my palace, there was no need for them – the wards and shields here were nigh impossible to break, set in place not only by myself but Amren and my forefathers. I had given her no rules or restrictions, she was free to explore the palace as she wished, even to leave if she wanted – though she took neither option.

Instead she kept to her room and the alcove in which she had taken her first reading lesson in, eating alone and practicing her reading and shielding in the hours between. Each night I would write out sentences for her to practice, taking some amusement in the choice of words that I knew would annoy her – if she did not seek out my company, at least in this she knew I still existed, even if my company only ever would annoy her. I would not scoff at her ire, even if it was the only piece of herself she would ever give to me – it was something, and it was lovely.

Mor stayed with me at the palace, sometimes going off by herself to handle matters pertaining to her work in Hewn city, but always close by to Feyre as well, in case she might ever want the company. Mor seemed less concerned by Feyre’s isolation than I did, and when I asked her about it she looked at me with those gentle brown eyes and said, “When you are wounded, do you want people constantly prodding at the wound? Solitude can be a means of healing, when it is by choice instead of enforced. Let her be.”

So, I stayed away.

But each night I lay in bed and agonized over every moment I had spent with Feyre, Under the Mountain and after, running our words over and over through my head until eventually they became white noise and all I could see were her blue-gray eyes staring back at me. Sleep evaded me, and when I did finally succumb to it my dreams were just as dark and painful… but they were always my own. I did not find myself walking through the dark halls of Feyre’s nightmares, and I was not sure that it was better not to wake each night with her panic on my tongue, my stomach knotting as she went to hurl her guts up. Because now there was only silence where her mind had once been, she still leaked sometimes, her shielding was far from perfect, but where her mind had once been a constant presence at my side, now it was more like a distant memory, a rare scent I might only come across at random.

And I still felt so empty.

The day before her week here was to end, I had failed to fall asleep, the panic of letting her go was building in me steadily and I had nothing to beat it back with. I finally gave up lying in bed and had made my way to the library in the early hours of the morning, pausing at the alcove where Feyre did her daily lessons. Setting on the table were yesterday’s papers, filled with her untidy scrawl, copying over and over the sentences I had given her.

_Rhysand is the most exquisite High Lord._

_Rhysand is the most charming High Lord._

_Rhysand is the most desirable High Lord._

My lips quirked up in a smile, and I gestured with my hand, causing the pages to flutter and disappear from the table, and a new set of pages appear, with new sentences for her to copy later today.

Then I continued on, around a shelve of books to where a couple of comfortable leather chairs looked out over a balcony and another view of mountains. I knew I had promised myself to give her the rest of the week alone, but I wanted to be here when she came in for her lessons today because tomorrow, she would be gone and I… I had to see her. I settled into a chair to wait and watch the sun blossom across the sky, watched as the rays traced the rugged tips of the mountains, glinting over the snow that sparkled like stars in the night sky.

I wondered what it would look like, if Feyre was to paint this scene, this brilliant sunrise. I was no painter, I couldn’t see the image the way she could in her mind, but I could imagine her painting it. Sitting on a stool in front of the easel, bent forward, her gaze transfixed by the colors and shapes her paint brush committed to the canvas, her hands splattered with paint, perhaps even some of it sprinkled across her face, in her hair… 

“Rhys.”

I jumped with surprise – I had not heard Mor approach, or even realize how much time had passed. My heart slammed into my chest as I looked up at her, my darkness rippling through me instinctively as I processed the threat.

_Safe. No threat. Safe._

She stood still and waited, understanding, and letting me calm down.

“Mor,” I finally said, my voice rough, as the darkness ebbed, my heart rate slowing. “What is it?”

She finally stepped around the chairs and sat down in one, leaning back while her eyes appraised me. Coming to the conclusion that I was back in control again she said, “Azriel contacted me, he found out some information that he wanted me to pass on.”

The brief surge of panic, while faded, had left me feeling a little jittery, and so I stood and paced slowly, trying to work the edge of it out. “What did Azriel find?”

“He says that… Tamlin has been talking to Hybern.”

I paused and looked at Mor for a moment, considering, then resumed pacing. “I’m not surprised.”

She hesitated then said, “There are rumors he wants to make a bargain.”

I didn’t respond and continued to pace.

“Rhys… what…” Mor began to ask.

“He wants to break Feyre’s bargain with me.” 

Silence.

“Azriel would want to know that,” Mor finally said.

I gritted my teeth and sniped back, “Azriel can go to hell, he likely already knows, anyways.”

Then I caught sight of Feyre, walking close enough to listen but far back enough to not have to engage – though I did not let on that I had seen her and continued to pace. I would not deny her the right to listen in – we were having this conversation somewhere public; she had the right.

Mor’s eyes flashed at me, “We played games the last time, and we lost. Badly. We’re not going to do that again. 

“You should be working,” I said in simple response, “I gave you control for a reason, you know.” Not just of Hewn city, but of managing information from the Spring Court as well – as much as I wanted to handle it myself, I knew how easy it would be for me to become obsessive, I needed a buffer. Mor was it.

Her jaw tightened, but finally she seemed to realize Feyre had joined us, or at least had joined the room we were in, and she turned to smile at her – or at least it looked like she had tried to smile, it was more like a cringe however.

I finally stopped pacing, glancing once at Feyre, then back at Mor. This wasn’t the only reason she had come to talk to me – the information was interesting, and potentially vital, but not valuable enough to bother bringing to me on its own, at least not yet. “Say what it is you came here to say, Mor.” I resumed pacing.

She rolled her eyes for Feyre’s benefit, a gesture of camaraderie that might have made me smile if her next words had not stopped me in my tracks.

“There was another attack – at a temple in Cesere. Almost every priestess slain, the trove looted.”

The rage surged through me until I could taste it on my tongue, “Who.”

Mor did not flinch, though Feyre did and I tried to hold back the full force of the rage for her benefit alone.

“We don’t know,” she said, “Same tracks as last time: small group, bodies that showed signs of wounds from large blades, and no trace of where they came from and how they disappeared. No survivors. The bodies weren’t even found until a day later, when a group of pilgrims came by.”

The more information Mor gave me the greater the rage grew inside me, until I could feel it just below the surface of my skin, the darkness swirling, throbbing to escape…

And then Feyre made a sound, low, deep in her throat, and something about that sound caused the darkness inside of me to seep out.

It began at my back, swirling eddies of darkness forming into great plumes of smoke that coalesced into my wings, arching and spreading behind me. The weight of them balanced me, centered my soul in a way I didn’t realize I was missing until they were once again spread behind me. 

I couldn’t look at Feyre. I couldn’t not look at her. I managed one brief glance, expecting horror or disgust – she had seen my wings once before, but had never seen them form, and I was certain the sight would terrify her. Instead her eyes were wide, and her gaze was… appreciative. It made my heart stop. And then race.

But the rage was still burning inside me, simmering low and deep. My lands had been attacked. Again. My people killed. The power of the High Lord thirsted for revenge, for death and it was a challenge to hold that need in check. I looked away from Feyre, casting my gaze to the mountains, trying to calm myself and saw the distant clouds of a storm rolling over the peaks of the mountains towards the palace.

 “What did Azriel have to say about it?”

Mor hesitated, casting a glance back at Feyre, but when I did not say anything to dissuade her from continuing, she finally said, “He’s pissed. Cassian even more so – he’s convinced it must be one of the rogue Illyrian war-bands, intent on winning new territory.”

I considered that, it didn’t feel right, but it was a possibility. “It’s something to consider,” I mused, and for Feyre’s benefit continued, “Some of the Illyrian clans gleefully bowed to Amarantha during those years. Trying to expand their borders could be their way of seeing how far they can push me and get away with it.”

Mor seemed to understand who that explanation was for then said, “Cassian and Az are waiting-“ she stopped short, glanced at Feyre and winced, before continuing, “They’re waiting in the usual spot for your orders.”

The townhouse then. Fine. I studied the dark clouds; I could already taste the wild currents on the wind – flying through them would be a good way to work off some of the rage still burning inside of me. This was not a time for rash actions, I need to think and organize the information we could glean from these events, I needed to plan.

As though Mor could read my thoughts she said, “Winnowing would be easier.”

I managed a slight smirk for her benefit then said, “Tell the pricks I’ll be there in a few hours.”

Mor only glanced back at Feyre, gave her a vague grin, then vanished.

I kept my eyes on the storm as I felt Feyre’s eyes resting on me.

“How does that…” she hesitated then continued, “vanishing work?”

I didn’t look back, using her question, her voice, to distract myself. “Winnowing?” I considered how best to explain it to her and wondered vaguely if she might be able to do it someday as well. “Think of it as… two different points on a piece of cloth. One point is your current place in the world. The other one across the cloth is where you want to go. Winnowing…” I gestured briefly, “it’s like folding that cloth so the two spots align. The magic does the folding – and all we do is take a step to get from one place to another. Sometimes it’s a long step, and you can feel the dark fabric of the world as you pass through it. A shorter step, let’s say from one end of the room to the other, would barely register. It’s a rare gift, and a helpful one. Though only the stronger fae can do it. The more powerful you are, the farther you can jump between places in one go. 

We were both quiet for several minutes, then finally she spoke up again, her voice still hesitant but… kind.

“I’m sorry about the temple – and the priestesses.”

Her kindness would have soothed me had her statement not reminded me of the rage burning inside of me – at best her generosity kept it from exploding out of me still. I turned to look at her, running my gaze over her slowly, taking in the changes one week had made on her – the dark circles on her eyes were lighter, and the clothes she was given to wear here fit better, her body no longer as thin. Even as the sight warmed me, I knew I could not tell her. Instead I had to use this terrible event to remind her about everything I had warned her about on that first day.

“Plenty more people are going to die soon enough, anyway.”

She shifted, her curiosity winning out, “What are… what are Illyrian war-bands?”

A low growl escaped me as I shifted my wings in annoyance. “Arrogant bastards, that’s what.” I muttered darkly.

She crossed her arms and waited, the gesture a silent request and I found I could not deny her in this… or anything for that matter. I stretched my wings slowly, feeling the rays of the sun, quickly being swallowed up by the approaching storm, warming the leathery membrane of my wings.

“They’re a warrior-race within my lands. And general pains in my ass.”

Her brows narrowed a bit, “Some of them supported Amarantha.”

I let out a low breath, thinking back on those months where I had left her alone and we had hunted them down in darkness and cold. “Some. But me and mine have enjoyed ourselves hunting them down these past few months. And ending them.” Enjoy wasn’t right word, or rather it wasn’t for me – Azriel however, he had nearly delighted in it. We understood though, Cassian and I, why he felt that way. I did not begrudge his brand of justice when it was due.

“That’s why you stayed away-“ she asked me suddenly, “You were busy with that?”

I met her gaze and did not respond at first. _No,_ I thought, _nothing would have kept me from you if I thought for one second that you wanted me, any piece of me._ Instead I merely replied, “I was busy with many things.”

And I knew in that instant, as she stared at me and looked entirely unsatisfied with my answer, that if I stayed one minute longer… I would tell her. Everything.

And she would hate me. And I would lose her. 

I had to leave. Now.

I turned and walked out to the balcony and leapt off it, letting myself freefall for several glorious seconds before I stretched my wings out and caught the current, soaring off in the direction of the storm, leaving Feyre behind, and the silence between us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This endeavor is my first ever fanfiction attempt, and it has been a blast to play with so far.
> 
> I would love to see your comments about what I'm writing!
> 
> So please hit me up with what you think! - Otter


	8. The Consequences of Our Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: If you have not read A Court of Mist and Fury by Sarah J. Maas I strongly suggest you go read it first - it's undoubtedly better written and what I have written will spoil the book for you.
> 
> I am re-writing all of ACOMAF from Rhysand's perspective, using all of the original characters/scenes/dialogue, and adding in new bits and bobs to flesh his story out more.
> 
> This Section:  
> Ch. 1 - Rhysand's return home from Under the Mountain  
> Ch. 2 - Rhysand shares Feyre's nightmare  
> Ch. 3 - Rhysand rescues Feyre from her wedding  
> Ch. 4 - Feyre throws her shoe at Rhysand  
> Ch. 5 - Rhysand and Feyre have breakfast together  
> Ch. 6 - Feyre learns to read and write  
> Ch. 7 - Rhysand tells Feyre about Hybern  
> Ch. 8 - Rhysand takes Feyre back to the Spring Court
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> *Disclaimer - I do not take credit for the any of the characters or the world created by Sarah J. Maas.

I arrived in Velaris drenched. And calmer. The difficult weather meant I had to focus all of my energy on flying, and the few hours it took to make it to my townhouse ensured that the rage had been worked down to a low burning ember in the pit of my gut – the need for vengeance was not forgotten, but it was tempered.

Landing on the roof with a soft thud, the puddles of water splashing around my legs as I walked towards the door, opening it and making my way inside, down the hall to the top of the stairs. Glancing down at my family, they were all huddled together, talking in low voices.

I heard Cassian’s voice above the rest as he said, “But what if she-“

Amren let out a low hiss as she scented me and looking up at me with her swirling, silver eyes, noting my soaked clothing, and my hair plastered against my head, she smirked.

“You’re a bit wet, High Lord.”

I ignored her comment and looked towards Cassian, my eyes narrowing. “Please finish what you were going to say Cassian.” My voice was quiet. And lethal.

He met my gaze without hesitation – he was my General for a reason, he was not afraid of a fight. But while his ability to read a battlefield and an opponent was without equal, his chosen approach to Feyre was enough to make my blood boil with fierce anger.

He leaned back in his chair, flexing his shoulders, causing his wings to ruffle slightly behind him. “Mor informed us that Tamlin’s bride is currently visiting the Night Court. And that you told her about Hybern.”

He paused, and I waited, water dripping off of me and onto the wood floor below, creating a small puddle at my feet.

He tilted his head and said, “What is going to stop her from going straight to Tamlin and telling him everything you told her?”

Mor glanced cautiously between the two of us – she knew the truth, and my silence and stillness worried her. Azriel took his cues from Mor and shifted slightly, as though to place himself in front of her, between Cassian and myself, just in case we came to blows. Amren… Amren just leaned back and watched without reaction.

I continued to face Cassian, there was no reason for me to be furious at him – he had every reason to ask the question, but still the fury burned away at me. _Tamlin’s bride_ … She was so much more, he couldn’t know that of course, he had never met her, and I did not talk about her, not even with Mor, not… not until this week. But the way he wrote her off, treated her as though she _belonged_ to Tamlin, an object, a prize, infuriated me.

Finally, I arched a brow at him and said simply, “Absolutely nothing.”

Cassian just stared at me, and then let out a low laugh, shaking his head. “What the hell Rhys? You’re down our throats about being cautious, about withholding the information we have even from people we have trusted for centuries, but then you share whatever the hell you want with this girl you have known for less than six months? _Who is she?_ ”

Everything. She is everything. But I couldn’t say that.

“She is not your concern.” The words were final, there was to be no debate. 

Cassian, hearing the hint but not taking it leaned forward with a growl, “Like hell she-“

Mor reached out suddenly, putting a hand on his shoulder and shook her head quickly. He stared at me for a moment longer then turned to look at her, studying her face before he relaxed his posture and leaned back into the chair, letting out a slow breath.

Amren let out a low snort, “If that’s over with now.” Then she gestured to me, and my clothes and hair instantly dried, the water at my feet disappearing. “We have matters to discuss.”

I nodded my thanks to her and made the rest of the way down the stairs, pausing at the bottom to lean against the bannister post, shifting my gaze to Azriel.

“Tell me about the temple.”

\- - - ~*~ - - -

It was hours later, and I was still in Velaris, standing in front of the fireplace, staring down at the flickering flames. Had it only been a week ago that I had been in this exact spot, waiting to get drunk with Cassian while she was supposed to be getting married?

My heart tightened at the thought, she went back tomorrow, what if it was all still waiting for her, the ceremony, Ianthe, just waiting there for her to return…

“Rhys,” I heard Cassian walk up behind me. Azriel had left about an hour earlier, with instructions to try and slip extra spies into the Spring Court, a concession I was willing to make to ease Cassian’s concerns. Amren was still here, tucked into a corner with a few books scattered around her, still trying to figure out how the wall might be brought down. Mor had left at the same time as Azriel, returning to the Night Court, to be available for Feyre as she had promised she would be. I knew Feyre wouldn’t seek Mor out, but… It comforted me to know she was there, just in case.

I lifted my head to look at Cassian who stood beside me now, his arms crossing over his chest as he stared down into the flames for a moment, then met my gaze. Challenging, not in the way a traitor might challenge his king for the throne, but as one warrior to another might in order to teach him to increase his reflexes or better his skill – just so he might survive one day longer on the battlefield.

“Is losing the war worth the risk of trusting this girl?” Was all he asked, without any of the surly disbelief his tone had held earlier, but rather a genuine need to know.

I looked away from him and back towards the flames, running his question through my head, like a ribbon of darkness as I curled it around the memory of Feyre, on the ground, her body broken and bleeding beneath the torture of Amarantha, and how, with her very last breath she had freed us all. The memory of her neck breaking, the crack of bone splintering made me flinch, and I sucked in a low breath. I knew what my nightmares would be this night, and already I dreaded them.

Straightening my back, I turned to face him and said quietly, “Three months ago Cassian, I trusted her with all of our lives. If she isn’t worth trusting now, then we have already lost.”

His gaze bore into mine, challenging, assessing, and then, finally, accepting. A slow grin spread across his face as he said, “Can’t wait to meet the girl who can bring Rhys to his knees.”

Behind us, Amren barked a laugh.

I simply shook my head and sighed, “I’m heading back, I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

And then I pulled the darkness around myself and winnowed back to the Night Court.

\- - - ~*~ - - -

I did not seek her out, even though I desperately wanted to, and she did not look for me. But if I was honest with myself, I hadn’t really expected her to. I spent the last hours of the day in my chamber, sitting at my table and trying to distract myself with paperwork.

I only had a modicum of success. The paperwork was endless, but my mind was too full of Feyre to function properly. Mor would check in with me, bringing me more documents to add to my endless pile of paperwork, but she could tell I did not want to talk, and so without a word, she left me alone. I had never been more grateful to my cousin then at that moment.

By the time the sun had set I had given up any hope of being productive. This was her last night here before she would return to the Spring Court and… him. My heart felt like the stone heart Tamlin once had, heavy and frozen.

I wanted… I don’t know what I wanted. To see her. To share this last night with her. I knew it would not go the way I dreamed of in my head, but… I couldn’t stop myself dreaming it would. I left my bed chamber and made my way through the main hall, down the stairs and to the hall her chamber was in, my foot falls heavy as I approached her door. I stood in front of it and just stared; I couldn’t hear her through it, but I could smell her, and I could just _feel_ her.

She was like a beacon, calling to me, a brilliant light house guiding me through darkness and storm back home. My Feyre. 

I raised my hand, fingers curved into a fist to knock… and then flattened my hand out, resting it on the door lightly instead. Leaning forward, I pressed my forehead against the door and closed my eyes, breathing in the scent of her.

If I knocked on her door, if I asked her to walk with me, lead her through the palace to the garden on the roof, walked with her at my side under the stars...

I would tell her.

And she would hate me. More than she already did.

I knew that all she could think about right now was going back to Tamlin. I knew that she loved him – I had seen how strong that love was, how she had given everything she had for him. And I just could not do it to her. I knew that she deserved to know, but I could not ruin her life. Would not. She had enough to handle, she was hurting enough.

I had to let her go. Always. I would always have to let her go.

She was _not_ my Feyre.

I pulled back from her door and walked away without ever letting her know I had been there. I made my way up to the veranda we had eaten breakfast together at that first morning and sat there beneath the stars. At some point in the night I summoned a bottle of whiskey and poured myself a few glasses, drinking slowly – not looking to get drunk, only wanting to not feel so empty inside. The alcohol blurred the edges of the hole inside of me, and the emptiness did not ache so badly.

As the sun swept the night away, I heard her climbing the stairs, two steps at a time. The sound of her excitement soured the taste of the whiskey in my mouth as I took another sip.

She approached me, always a safe distance away, and said quickly, her voice breathy with impatience. “It’s been a week. Take me home.”

I closed my eyes for a moment, pain lancing through my heart, then took another long sip before I set the glass down on the table. “Good morning, Feyre.”

“Take me home.”

I turned my head finally to look at her, letting my gaze drink her in, every inch of her. She was dressed in teal and gold, and she was beautiful. Radiant.

“That color suits you.”

Impatience colored her words, “Do you want me to say please? Is that it.”

I couldn’t help the half smirk at her words, “I want you to talk to me like a person. Start with ‘good morning’ and let’s see where it gets us.” 

She didn’t hesitate, “Good morning.” And she did not expand.

I smiled slowly. 

“Are you ready to face the consequences of your departure?” 

She froze and I could tell she hadn’t thought about the wedding. At least not in the last day or so. Some part of me was… pleased. She may not have wanted to come here when she begged someone to save her, but her visit here had brought her a measure of peace. She didn’t see it that way of course – she could not see the good in me nor of my Court.

“It’s none of your business.” 

I just shook my head. “Right. You’ll probably ignore it, anyway. Sweep it under the rug, like everything else.”

She scowled at me, annoyed. “No one asked for your opinion, Rhysand.”

I arched a brow. “Rhysand?” And chuckled, low in my throat, “I give you a week of luxury and you call me Rhysand?”

Her ire continued to grow, she fidgeted with it. “I didn’t ask to be here or be given that week.”

Of course not. This would be the last place she would ever want to be. I was right not to tell her. And yet… she looked so much better.

“And yet look at you,” I complemented with a touch of a smirk, “Your face has some color – and those marks under your eyes are almost gone. Your mental shield is stellar, by the way.”

She took a steadying breath then said quietly, “Please take me home.”

I shrugged and stood slowly, “I’ll tell Mor you said good-bye.”

She blinked at me, “I barely saw her all week.”

I walked towards her, stopping within touching distance. “She was waiting for an invitation – she didn’t want to pester you. I wish she extended me the same courtesy.”

“No one told me.”

I stared down into her gray-blue eyes, memorizing them – leaving her after we escaped Under the Mountain had been painful. This… this would be excruciating.

“You didn’t ask. And why bother? Better to be miserable and alone.”

She flinched slightly at my words, eyes tightening.

“Have you thought about my offer?”

She lifted her head slightly, stubborn to the end. “I’ll let you know next month.”

I wanted to smile. She didn’t want to come next month; I wasn’t foolish enough to expect that, but she had thought ahead to it. It was something. It was a start.

I still studied her face as I said, “I told you once, and I’ll tell you again. I am not your enemy.”

Her lips tightened into a thin line. “And I told you once, so I’ll tell you again. You’re _Tamlin’s_ enemy. So I suppose that makes you mine.”

“Does it?” I breathed.

Her temper flared just slightly, challenging me. “Free me from my bargain and let’s find out.”

And I wanted to. And I couldn’t. I lost her once, and this was the only hold I had on her and it was tenuous at best.

“I can’t do that.”

She scowled at me with accusation. “Can’t, or won’t?”

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer. Instead I just extended my hand to her, “Shall we go?”

I watched her body as she nearly lunged for my hand, her delicate painters’ fingers wrapping around my weapon calloused hands. I pulled her in close and felt her grab at me in fear as I pulled the darkness up around us, wrapping an arm around her back to hold her in place, savoring the seconds I got to hold her in my arms as I winnowed us to the Spring Court. I could feel her fear at the darkness and couldn’t help but snicker lightly – this was a woman who faced down the Middengard Wyrm, but a little darkness terrified her. She was built of contradictions.

And then our feet landed on solid ground, roughhewn flagstones beneath our feet, sunlight crowning around us, the scent of grass and growing things. She shoved away from me, spinning and making to sprint up the steps to the manor house. I reached out quickly and grabbed her wrist, holding onto her just a second longer.

“Good luck.” I crooned softly.

And she nearly snarled at me, “Get your hand off me.”

With the barest hint of a chuckle, I released her and let her go. And felt my heart shatter as she raced away from me and called out to her retreating form, “I’ll see you next month.”

And then I vanished and took my emptiness with me.

\- - - ~*~ - - -

I did not return home. Not yet. I wasn’t fit to be around people, my friends, my family.

 _Feyre_.

She had shredded my mask, my confidence. She hadn’t even intended to and yet it lay in tatters at my feet.

I winnowed to a lake near the cabin my brothers and I liked to frequent for fishing and hunting in the years gone past. I had thought about going to the cabin itself, but it felt too enclosed – I needed air and solitude. I stood at the edge of the lake, snow deep around my legs, my breaths coming out in heavy puffs of steam.

It was cold and the wind bit at my face, cutting across my skin. I stared down at the frozen surface of the lake, and damnit if I didn’t find myself comparing the blue of the ice to that of her eyes. It was too light in color, the ice was, but my mind still connected the two. 

Three weeks. I had to make it three long, eternal weeks before I could see her again. And I had no idea what shape she would be in when I went to collect her again.

My throat tightened in fear. What if she was worse?

_A reason to live._

I had given her the best reason I knew of. Would it be enough? Would anything be enough?

I closed my eyes and forced myself to breathe, sucking in the harsh winter air, focusing on how it seared through my lungs.

I wondered how long I could let this go on. Would this be it for the rest of forever? One week a month, with three weeks I had to die by minutes in between. And what about her? Three weeks lived in ever increasing anxiety for the one week she had to suffer through each month. 

I… This was wrong. What I was doing was wrong. She was right. She had freed herself of debt – if there had even been any debt to be held in the beginning, and there hadn’t been. Not really. I couldn’t keep doing this to her, I just… I needed her. I needed to see that she would be alright. That she would improve. I needed proof.

One more time. I would collect her one more time, next month, and when I saw she was better, that she was happy and healthy, I would release her from the bargain. She deserved to be happy, and she was not mine. I would let her go. 

And the thought shattered me. How was it possible I could feel as though I was dying, and still be standing and breathing, my heart still managing to beat?

 _A reason to live._  

What would my reason be, without her? I opened my eyes and looked out at the lake again, looking for an answer, casting my mind out for a reason, any reason.

And memory came back to me, of Feyre’s second task, the riddle she could not read, and how I had guided her hand to the correct lever. She had nearly crumbled right then and there, and I had reached out to her mind and told her to stand tall, and to not cry. I had helped her beat back the grief long enough to stare Amarantha down. I had helped her, but it was her own inner strength that had straightened her spine and lifted her chin – I just blew air over the flame to stoke it.

And if, after having just faced the crushing realization that she had almost died, almost doomed her friend, and that she only survived because I aided her, and realizing with terror that there was barely a slim chance she would defeat the third challenge – if after that, she could still manage to stand tall…

Then I could let her go and do the same. And my reason to fight? It would be for her, because of her. She was not mine; she never would be. But she lived in this world, and I would see her safe, I would never again let her suffer the way she had Under the Mountain. I would fight against Hybern with every inch of power I commanded. And I would fight to protect the things that she loved, because her happiness was paramount to mine, but more than that, because she deserved her happiness. I would fight to protect her family, her sisters and father, and that tiny slip of land where the rest of the humans on this island lived. And Tamlin… there would never be forgiveness between us. But I would fight for him – because he was who she wanted.

I would always be broken, and I would always, _always_ , want her. But I would let her go. And I would fight for her happiness.

Always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This endeavor is my first ever fanfiction attempt, and it has been a blast to play with so far.
> 
> I would love to see your comments about what I'm writing!
> 
> So please hit me up with what you think! - Otter


End file.
